


Your Happier Yesterday

by actingwithportals



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Baggage, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, You Tried To Move On - No One Is Happy With This, learning to cope, let Hera say fuck, mostly just mentions of stuff that happened in the podcast, no archive warnings apply but I will add the appropriate tags if anything triggering comes up, return to earth, the answer is yes, will I make every single title in this a reference to the soundtrack?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actingwithportals/pseuds/actingwithportals
Summary: It took sixty-one days for the Urania to make it back to Earth from the smoldering remains of the Hephaestus Station. With the constant threat of Goddard Futuristics looming over their shoulders, the remaining Hephaestus crew do their best to survive on an Earth that can’t know they’re alive. Will they survive their reunion with gravity and unlimited oxygen? Will Goddard Futuristics find their hidden location and finish the job Cutter started? Will the ghosts of their pasts take care of Goddard’s loose end for them? Plus cabin fever, identity crises, poorly handled emotional trauma, and the crushing weight of survivor’s guilt.Semi-hiatus.





	1. Sometimes You Get Distracted By Vices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one expected life back on Earth to be easy after everything that happened while orbiting the red dwarf star from Hell, but Lieutenant Commander Renée Minkowski had hoped they would at least be doing better than this. Plus formidable bedside clocks, nonlethal strangulation, and successful, non-vomit-inducing recipes to make on cold winter nights.

December 19th, 2016

21 days since returning to Earth

Twenty-one days. It had been twenty-one days since the Urania crash-landed into the Canadian wilderness. Nineteen days since finding an unoccupied house to claim for shelter. Fifteen days since Jacobi hooked everyone up with fake identification and prepaid phones (even in their difficult situation, the man certainly knew how to work fast). Five days since Dr. Pryce—no, since Miranda finished installing servers into their home to bring Hera back online. Two days since Renée Minkowski had any sleep.

The current house arrangements weren’t ideal, but they had little to work with, and simply having a roof over their heads and actual beds to sleep on was enough to make everyone happy. Or, at least not complain too much. It was a small home with a living room, a kitchen, an office, a laundry room, two bathrooms, and two bedrooms (respectively shared by Minkowski, Lovelace, and Miranda, and then Eiffel and Jacobi). Most importantly, the house was wired for electricity, which was as good as oxygen for Hera. She was limited to just observing the home through cameras and microphones placed around the house, but for now that would have to do. How Jacobi managed to get ahold of anything while staying off the grid both impressed and concerned Minkowski too much for her to feel up to asking him about it. He was doing them all a favor and that was good enough.

However, even with their good fortune to be alive and back on Earth at all, it didn’t change the fact that Minkowski couldn’t sleep. It was 3:00 in the morning, December 19th, day 21 of being back on Earth, roughly four hours since Minkowski had started staring at the clock on her bedside table.

She simply couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t anything unusual; all of them with the exception of the one who didn’t need to sleep, because she didn’t have a physical body that got fatigued, had been struggling with insomnia. More specifically, an insomnia induced by a hypervigilant need to stay awake. At least, this is what Minkowski assumed. She could see it on everyone’s faces; the perpetual dark circles under everyone’s eyes. She could hear it in the next room over, the faint sounds of constant movement as someone tried to get comfortable, only to need to shift over again after five minutes of lying uncomfortably. She could feel it next to her where Lovelace lay awake, staring at the ceiling and her body tensing every time there was a creak of a floorboard or a loud rustle of wind outside their window.

Minkowski had thought she was starting to get over it. She knew that she couldn’t afford to be running on empty every day when so many people were depending on her. She knew that, even though she wasn’t technically in a command position anymore, she had a responsibility to keep the remainder of her crew safe. And there was no way she could do that effectively if she _just couldn’t sleep._

Yet here she was, staring at her bedside clock and counting off the minutes in her mind until the sun would rise, and the day would begin. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in an hour. Five hundred and twenty-five thousand and six hundred minutes in a year (a completely useless fact she knew by memory from a different time, a different life). Approximately two hundred and forty minutes until she needed to be up. She needed to start the first pot of coffee for everyone to have when they came downstairs for breakfast. God, how much she had missed actual coffee.

Minkowski sighed, sitting up suddenly. It was hopeless to try and sleep at this point. Careful not to disturb Lovelace (who was already awake but making a valiant attempt at pretending otherwise), Minkowski got up, slipped on her boots she always kept at the foot of their bed, and quietly made her way downstairs.

The air outside was frigid, and there was a steady snowfall that had been going strong since earlier that night, accumulating probably another four inches on the already snow-covered ground. There were no stars out tonight. No signs of the unforgiving cold of space a mere sixty-two miles above Minkowski’s head. A good ship could get you there in eight minutes.

Roughly 7.9 light years away, more miles than were reasonable to calculate, there was a star. Once upon a time there was a station orbiting that star. That station was long gone, burned up after falling into the star due to nothing alive on that station to keep it in orbit.

One thousand and two hundred and twenty-three days. That’s how many days Minkowski spent on that station.

Eight. That’s how many crew members, herself included, she was responsible for on that station.

Three. That’s how many didn’t come back.

Minkowski rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms. Damn cold night air.

“You’re up early.”

Minkowski let out a breath. “I haven’t gone to sleep yet.”

“I know,” Lovelace said, walking up to stand next to where she was leaning on the porch railing. “Learn any secrets from the formidable bedside clock?”

“It takes approximately twenty-seven minutes for me to stare at it without blinking before my vision gets blurry,” Minkowski answered, not taking her eyes off of the sky.

“Well, the clock isn’t keeping track anymore,” Lovelace assured her. “So, you can blink now.”

Minkowski closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “How long do you think it took for the Hephaestus to fall into the star?”

“An hour?” Lovelace guessed. “Is that what’s been keeping you up lately?”

“There would have been nothing but dead bodies up there,” Minkowski said, not answering Lovelace’s question. “So, why do I feel like we left something behind?”

“Because we did,” Lovelace responded. “But it wasn’t anything we could have brought with us, even if we tried.”

Minkowski watched the snow fall, a silence hanging in the air that only exists in spaces where the world is asleep, and snow quiets the sounds of anything else.

“Why are you up this early?” Minkowski asked when it was clear Lovelace had no intention of going back inside.

“Thought I would watch the stars,” Lovelace said, as if it were the simplest thing.

“It’s snowing,” Minkowski pointed out.

“I know.”

Silence. Ten seconds of silence. Thirty seconds of silence. Forty seconds. Fifty. Seventy.

“I think I’ll make pancakes for breakfast in the morning,” Minkowski said. “Maybe with blueberries. I believe we still have a pack in the freezer.”

Lovelace hummed. More silence.

“There’s that one outlet in the living room that still isn’t working,” Minkowski went on. “Jacobi has been whining for two days now about having to pick a new reading spot since he can’t use the lamp by the couch. Want to help Hera and I fix the wiring?”

“It’s not going to occupy you for the next three to four hours before the others start waking up,” Lovelace pointed out.

“I’ll figure something out.”

Lovelace shrugged. “Beats standing out in the cold.”

“You could have gone inside.”

“I was watching the stars,” Lovelace reminded her. “It’s only fun to do when you’re with someone else. Alone and it’s just depressing.”

Minkowski nodded. She couldn’t disagree with that.

“Lead on, Commander,” Lovelace said, nodding towards the door.

They went inside, shutting the door quietly behind them. The snow fell harder.

* * *

“If I eat another blueberry pancake, I’m going to kill someone.”

“You’re welcome to cook breakfast sometime if you feel so strongly about this,” Minkowski said, shooting daggers at Jacobi from across the kitchen where he sat at the table. She flipped a pancake with practiced ease.

“Strawberry,” Eiffel mused. “What about strawberry pancakes?”

“Strawberries are out of season, Eiffel,” Lovelace reminded him.

“So are blueberries, but you can still buy them frozen at the grocery store,” Eiffel said. “Strawberry pancakes would be a refreshing change of pace.”

“Would that even taste good?” Lovelace asked.

“Strawberries on pancakes is a classic,” Eiffel said emphatically. “Strawberries in the batter shouldn’t be that different.”

“And how do you know what classic pancakes are?” Jacobi questioned; an eyebrow raised in skepticism.

“The internet is a beautiful thing, my friend,” Eiffel answered, ignoring the jab.

“Who still wants a pancake?” Minkowski asked, glancing around the room.

Eiffel’s hand shot up.

“Someone that hasn’t already had four,” Minkowski amended.

Eiffel’s hand went down.

“I would like another,” Miranda said, holding out her empty plate for Minkowski. The pancake was neatly placed on her plate, and Minkowski returned to the stove to finish cooking the rest of the batter.

“What’s on the agenda for today, Commander?” Hera asked, her voice crackling faintly over the speakers installed in the kitchen.

Minkowski thought for a moment, going over the list of priorities in her head. “Someone needs to go to the store today to grab a few groceries. That outlet is working again but the bulb in the lamp is dead. Doug is on dishes duty today, and Isabel is on laundry duty. The bedsheets are probably due for another wash. Miranda, see if you can do something about the static coming from Hera’s speaker in here.”

“Of course.”

The last of the pancakes were cooked and dispersed appropriately, Minkowski putting the dishes into the sink to be washed later before grabbing her second cup of coffee and leaning her back against the kitchen counter.

“Care to join us at the table, Commander?” Lovelace asked, a twinkle of something in her eye that Minkowski couldn’t quite identify. Amusement, maybe?

“No point in sitting down yet if I’m going to get up to fill up my mug again in the next thirty seconds,” Minkowski said, draining the last of her coffee. She let go of the mug to turn and reach for the coffee pot.

The mug that, indeed, was bound by the laws of gravity. As were everything and everyone else in this house.

The mug shattered on the floor. No one so much as flinched; it got old after the fifth mug met its untimely end. Minkowski sighed, bending down to begin picking up the shattered remains.

“I’ll grab the broom,” Lovelace said, getting up from the table.

“Watch your step,” Minkowski reminded her.

“This is why we sit at the table with our food and beverages, Lieutenant,” Jacobi said, having not even looked up from his phone as he guided another piece of pancake into his mouth.

“I’ll add a new mug to the grocery list,” Miranda said, getting up as well and carefully walking to the living room where the grocery list was kept on the table by the door.

“Add two,” Jacobi called after her. “We’re bound to break another at some point today.”

“That almost sounds like a threat,” Lovelace said, sweeping up the last of the shards while Minkowski held the dustpan in place.

“It’s an educated guess,” Jacobi explained. “These accidents tend to happen in pairs.”

“Maybe we should just start buying paper cups instead?” Eiffel suggested.

“And create more trash that leads to bigger landfills that helps destroy our ecosystem and will one day lead to all life on Earth ceasing to exist as we know it?” Hera asked.

“Okay, okay, I get the point,” Eiffel groaned. “Maybe something a little less breakable, then? Like disposable plastic cups?”

“You have fun drinking boiling hot coffee out of a plastic kids cup,” Jacobi said. He still hadn’t looked up from his phone.

“Got any better ideas?” Eiffel asked.

Jacobi was silent for a moment before putting down his phone. “Stop forgetting about gravity.” He stood from the table, taking his dishes and placing them into the sink.

“Your amazing ideas are endless.” Eiffel got to his feet and followed suit.

“Who would like to do the shopping today?” Miranda asked, reentering the kitchen and smiling brightly. She always smiled brightly. Dr. Pryce never smiled like that. Minkowski wondered if she had even known how to smile in a genuine manner. She wondered if Miranda did either.

“Me and Eiffel, same as always,” Jacobi said, exiting the kitchen. Jacobi was the most skilled at going unnoticed, and Eiffel was the least recognizable. It was an obvious choice from day one. Miranda still asked every time. Maybe she wanted to be polite. Maybe she just wanted the social interaction.

“The roads are still icy, so you might want to wait until the afternoon,” Minkowski said. “Doug, could you get started on the dishes before they start piling up?”

“On it,” Eiffel said, rolling up his sleeves and getting to work.

“Only had to ask him once this time? What favor does Eiffel owe you, Minkowski?” Lovelace joked.

“If you must know, I might have made a teensy mistake in the bathroom last night,” Eiffel said, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

“He used my toothbrush,” Minkowski clarified.

“It was dark! They look the same in the dark!”

“The bathroom has a light switch that you can turn on to, oh I don’t know, see!” Minkowski snapped.

Eiffel opened his mouth to make a retort before closing it again and thinking more carefully about his words. “I’ll admit, I may not have been thinking clearly, but in my defense, no one was thinking clearly after four hours of Questions Only.”

“It wouldn’t have gone on for four hours if Captain Lovelace had given up at a reasonable time,” Hera said, clearly still aggravated by the whole ordeal.

“I will claim your title one day, Hera,” Lovelace said. “Vigilance is paramount.”

“And this is why we should find a better pastime,” Jacobi called from his reading spot on the couch in the living room.

“We could take up running?” Lovelace suggested.

“I would literally rather die,” Jacobi answered.

“You mean you don’t want freeze running outside while there’s a foot of snow on the ground and slowly choke on lack of oxygen from pushing your frail body too hard?” Lovelace teased.

“If I wanted any of that I could have gone about it more quickly in space,” Jacobi said. “You go running if you want to so badly. I’m staying inside where it’s warm.”

“Aren’t you from Wisconsin?” Minkowski asked.

“That has zero bearings on anything to do with my personal preferences to not freeze to death,” Jacobi answered. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m reading.”

It seemed like Jacobi was always reading. Or playing a game on his phone. Finding ways to occupy his hands and his mind. An occupied Jacobi was a stable Jacobi. Minkowski had avoided thinking about what he would do if he ever found himself too bored. She had enough things to worry over as it were.

Eiffel finished the dishes. Lovelace started laundry. Miranda made adjustments to Hera’s speakers. Jacobi sat quietly. Eiffel suggested a game of cards. No one wanted to play cards. Eiffel went upstairs to the room he shared with Jacobi. Lovelace went for a run. Jacobi continued to sit quietly. Miranda and Hera carried on small talk. The small talk didn’t last very long. Lovelace returned from her run and went to shower and take a nap. Jacobi continued to sit quietly.

Three people downstairs. Two people upstairs. One person in all parts of the house.

Three people who never came home.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Minkowski said, getting up from the chair in the living room she had been sitting in for the past few hours. She sat the book she had been holding down on the coffee table. She hadn’t read a single word of that book.

“Have a good nap,” Miranda said politely. She had been sitting in a corner on the floor, poured over her laptop. Jacobi continued to sit quietly.

“Hera, please remind Doug and Jacobi to not forget about the grocery run,” Minkowski said.

“Hey!” Jacobi protested.

“Hera, please remind Doug to not forget about the grocery run,” Minkowski amended.

“Yes, Commander,” Hera said.

Minkowski made her way upstairs to her bedroom. Lovelace was, despite her earlier statement, not napping.

“Learn any secrets from the formidable bedside clock?” Minkowski asked, closing the door behind her.

“Ha, ha,” Lovelace responded, sitting up. “You look like hell.”

“You look like normal.”

“I do sleepless paranoia better than you,” Lovelace reminded her. “Think you can finally get some rest now?”

“Not exactly,” Minkowski said, sitting down on her side of the bed. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

“Anyone left unsupervised that shouldn’t be?” Lovelace asked.

Minkowski shook her head. “Last I checked Doug and Hera weren’t up to anything they shouldn’t be, and the only other ones I have to seriously worry about are you and Jacobi. I trust you won’t seek him out for shenanigans while I’m asleep?”

“You need to be asleep first,” Lovelace said.

“Isabel,” Minkowski sighed.

“Alright, you don’t have to worry,” Lovelace assured her. “Should I even bother asking about why Pryce didn’t make that list?”

“_Miranda _hasn’t given me any reason to not trust her,” Minkowski said.

“That hasn’t stopped you.”

“Of course I don’t trust her,” Minkowski snapped. “For all I know she could be sending information to Canaveral through channels Hera doesn’t have access to. But if I go down that road with her it’s just going to make things worse. It’s easier to just pretend I trust her and pray I’m not making a colossal mistake.”

“If you don’t trust her why did you bring her?” Lovelace demanded. “Why is she still here?”

“Because if I admit that I still see her as the person she used to be how could I ever look Doug in the eyes as he is now?”

Lovelace didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t have an answer.

Minkowski lied down, facing away from Lovelace. “Wake me up when Jacobi and Doug get back from their errands.”

“Whatever you say, Commander.”

Minkowski closed her eyes. She had started to hate that title.

* * *

It was immediately obvious that Lovelace had not woken Minkowski when she had asked her to.

The sun had started to set, and the bedside clock read 5:04 in the afternoon. Four hours. It was more than expected, but Minkowski still felt fatigued.

“Sleep well?” Lovelace asked. She was sitting on her side of the bed, reading a book. No one in this house liked reading _that_ much. It was an excuse to keep conversation at a minimum, to not make eye contact. It worked.

“I thought I told you to wake me when Doug and Jacobi got back,” Minkowski said, sitting up.

“I didn’t say ‘aye, aye’.” Lovelace turned a page.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Minkowski asked.

“You haven’t slept in two days,” Lovelace answered. “And you weren’t exactly sleeping well just now either.”

“Excuse me?”

“You thrash around in your sleep, you know that?” Lovelace asked. “Sometimes you cry out. Sometimes I think I should wake you, but I decided that bad sleep is better than no sleep.”

“Coming from the one who doesn’t sleep?” Minkowski raised an eyebrow.

“We all have our vices,” Lovelace turned another page. She didn’t read that fast.

“At the very least I had wanted to be making dinner by now,” Minkowski said, getting up from the bed. Her hair had fallen out of its bun during her nap. Carefully, she tied it back up. Years of experience made her excellent at this maneuver without the help of a mirror.

“Pretty sure Jacobi knows how to cook,” Lovelace said. Another page turned.

“You trust him with a gas stove?” Minkowski asked.

Lovelace snorted at that. “Point taken.”

“I was thinking stew tonight. Help me with the bread?”

Lovelace sat quietly for a moment, thinking. She put her book down on the bedside table without leaving a bookmark or a corner of the page turned. “Sounds stimulating,” she said, getting up. “Sure hope the boys remembered to get more butter this time.”

“If they didn’t, I give you full permission to strangle one of them,” Minkowski said. “Not both, just one of them. Nonlethal, of course.”

They made their way downstairs. Jacobi was sitting in his reading spot and based on the sounds of Hera’s voice from the office, Minkowski guessed Miranda was working on something in there. Eiffel was nowhere to be seen.

“You remembered the butter, right?” Lovelace asked Jacobi as Minkowski made her way to the kitchen.

“Yes?” Jacobi responded. “Why?”

“Since you’re down here and Eiffel isn’t, you would have had to take the blame if it was forgotten again,” Lovelace explained.

“And what blame would that be?” Jacobi sounded only vaguely concerned, which for him said a lot.

“It’s better that you don’t know.” Lovelace was obviously enjoying this more than might be necessary.

Minkowski examined the contents of the fridge. Everything seemed in order; there was indeed a package of four sticks of unsalted butter in the door. She grabbed everything she needed and began the dinner preparations. Lovelace assisted, helping with more than just the bread. She always said she would only help with one part of dinner. She always helped with most parts of dinner. Before long the house was filled with the smell of stew and baked bread, enticing Eiffel to come downstairs and Miranda to leave the office. When it was ready, they all gathered around the table, everyone sitting in the same spot where they always sat. Rarely did this order ever diverge.

“Your cooking is stellar as always, Renée,” Eiffel said, starting on his second bowl of stew.

“Thank you, Doug,” Minkowski said. She had barely touched hers.

“I still think you could increase your cooking speed if you—”

“Jacobi, if you suggest one more time using a flamethrower instead of the stove, I will pour this stew in your lap.”

Lovelace bit her lip in what Minkowski assumed was her trying not to laugh. She always found Minkowski’s threats to be more amusing than intimidating.

“You should save this recipe for another time,” Eiffel continued. “Hera, did you catch all of what Renée put in this?”

“Of course,” Hera said, sounding somehow both proud of the fact and exhausted by it. “I’ll save it to the list of successful, non-vomit-inducing recipes to make on cold winter nights.”

“Hera, does that mean you have a list of recipes that are vomit-inducing?” Minkowski asked slowly.

“Don’t worry, none of them are yours,” Hera assured her. “They’re left over from the Hephaestus.”

“Do I want to ask?” Eiffel said carefully.

“Some things are better left forgotten,” Lovelace answered.

The room carried on in silence, save for the sounds of spoons scraping against bowls.

“Did anything interesting happen while you went out today?” Hera asked after a few minutes, her question directed at either Eiffel or Jacobi.

“So interesting,” Jacobi said, his tone mock excited. “Let’s see, we saw snow. And some more snow. And a little more snow. And what was that we came across at that one intersection, Eiffel? Oh, right. Snow. Gotta say, I was really hoping for a quiet life when I got back to Earth, not all of this excitement.”

“Let me rephrase. Doug, did anything interesting happen while you went out today?” Hera asked, her question directed only at Eiffel.

“Not really,” Eiffel admitted. “I did take some pictures of the landscape I thought you’d like to see. Gotta admit, Jacobi was pretty spot on with his answer. Not a lot of excitement out there today.”

“Can’t say that’s disappointing,” Minkowski said.

“Speak for yourself,” Jacobi grumbled.

“If you’re so desperate for excitement I’m sure you can find a way to get to Canaveral no problem,” Minkowski said impatiently. “Just don’t drag the rest of us down with you.”

“That’s a great idea! I’ll keep that in mind,” Jacobi bit back.

“No one is going to Canaveral,” Hera snapped. “Even if one of us wanted to throw our lives away it would create too much of a risk for everyone else. Anyone else remember the whole mind control thing?”

A few gazes instinctively fell onto Miranda. She seemed to pretend not to notice.

Minkowski sighed. “Look, I know things aren’t exactly how any of us wanted them to be.”

“Really? What gave that away?” Jacobi asked.

“But,” Minkowski went on, ignoring him. “We don’t have a lot of options. Until we can find some way to either stop Goddard Futuristics or get far enough away that they won’t ever find us, there isn’t much we can do right now.”

“I think we have a few more options than you’re giving us credit for,” Jacobi said, glancing not-so-inconspicuously towards Miranda. Once again, she seemed to pretend not to notice.

“I’m not going to tell you again to drop that idea, Jacobi,” Minkowski said, her voice taking on the tone she used when commanding respect. No one listened to that tone.

“It might help us bypass a few years’ worth of staying in hiding,” Jacobi argued.

“We’re all making sacrifices here,” Minkowski snapped, raising her voice more than she had intended. “Do you think any of us like this arrangement? Do you think I take pleasure out of being confined to this house in the middle nowhere Canada? Don’t you think I’d rather go home to my husband, my family? That we all have places we’d rather be than here? Newsflash, Jacobi; we can’t. Because the moment one of us walks out that door and goes anywhere further than the town five miles down the road, they will find us, and they aren’t going to be as forgiving as Cutter. And they won’t stop with us. Is that what you want?”

“It sure is awfully bold of you to assume there’s anyone left I care about for them to hurt,” Jacobi said quietly. Minkowski always thought there was something unnerving about Jacobi when he spoke quietly. “Or don’t you remember? Those two people are dead.”

A heavy silence hung over the room. No one seemed to have a response to that; Minkowski certainly didn’t.

“Is that where we’re at?” Hera’s voice came softly over the speakers but getting louder the more she spoke. “Two months we spent together on the Urania and we’re just now dealing with this?”

“Hera, this isn’t—”

“No, Commander; I’m not done. Five days I’ve been back online, and from what I understand you guys had sixteen days before that after abandoning the Urania, and . . . what? You’ve all just been quietly sulking? I know as good as anyone else here the terrible things that happened up there, and we haven’t always been working together, but we’re working together now. And now, if we don’t work together, if we don’t talk to each other, how are we ever supposed to figure out how to live with what happened?!”

Once again, it seemed that no one had a response.

“Well,” Jacobi said after a moment. “That was touching. Great meal by the way, Minkowski; you gotta give me that recipe Hera wrote down.” He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor loudly, and promptly exited the room, the sound of the front door slamming behind him.

“I . . . maybe I shouldn’t have . . .”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hera,” Eiffel assured her. “You just wanted to help.”

“I should go talk to him,” Minkowski said, scooting her chair back away from the table.

“You better not,” Lovelace cautioned. “It would probably just rub salt into the wound.”

“A wound that I caused,” Minkowski reminded her. “It’s time I did something about it.”

No one stopped her as she exited after Jacobi.

There was a brisk wind, but no more snowfall. The sky was perfectly clear as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared below the horizon. Already faint stars started to poke out of the oncoming blackness. Soon the sky would be full of them. It would be impossible to see, it was just too far and too small, but Minkowski could feel the red glow of a star that was much too familiar.

“If you’ve come to have a heart-to-heart, I’ll pass.” Jacobi’s face was faintly illuminated in orange, a lit cigarette held in his hand not two inches away from it.

Minkowski gave him a questioning look. Not that he could see it; he was currently looking at the tree line across the road leaving their yard. “New habits?” she asked.

“No more important work obligations to stop me,” Jacobi answered practically. “I like the smell.”

“Of tobacco or fire?”

“Fire doesn’t have a smell. It’s the burning that does.”

“Did you like the burning smell of Hilbert’s corpse?”

Jacobi laughed; Minkowski added that to the list of unnerving things he could do. “Are we really going there?” he asked. “I don’t know, Lieutenant; did you like blowing Maxwell’s brains out?”

“I’m not going to pretend that was the right thing to do,” Minkowski said. “But given the situation are you really surprised it’s what I did?”

“I blew up the guy who tried to kill you and infected your communications officer with a death virus,” Jacobi pointed out. “You shot my best friend.”

“And your boss shot mine.”

“Lovelace came back,” Jacobi reasoned. “Where exactly is Alana?”

“And what if Kepler had shot Eiffel instead?”

“Then take it up with Kepler! Oh, wait, he’s dead too.”

“And I had nothing to do with that,” Minkowski snapped. “None of us did.”

“That doesn’t make him any less dead.”

Minkowski didn’t say anything. Jacobi took another drag of his cigarette, the embers at the end glowing ever so slightly brighter.

“Why are you here, Jacobi?” Minkowski asked. The wind beyond their porch howled; Minkowski pulled her coat more tightly around herself.

Jacobi breathed out, a cloud of smoke mingling with the twilight air. “Where would I go?” he asked, his voice quiet. It was a different quiet. Less unnerving, more defeated. Minkowski made note of this too.

“You seemed pretty enthusiastic about the Canaveral suggestion earlier,” Minkowski said.

“Alone? I’d barely make it past the front gate.” A bitter laugh. The list expanded.

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of making it on your own elsewhere,” Minkowski pointed out. “Elsewhere away from the people that got your team killed.”

“And how would I raze Goddard to the ground from elsewhere?” Jacobi asked. “I’m not letting Lovelace have all the fun by herself.”

“If revenge is what you’re after then why am I still standing?”

Jacobi didn’t immediately answer. He took another drag, held it, and slowly let it out. “Did you want to kill her?”

Minkowski blinked. “No.”

“That makes you different from them.” Another drag. Another release.

“That doesn’t make her any less dead.”

“No,” Jacobi agreed. “It doesn’t. Which is why I’m going to stick around and make your life as much hell as you’ve made mine, just in smaller doses over a longer period of time.”

“And that’ll be enough?” Minkowski questioned.

“We’ll have to wait and see on that,” Jacobi answered. “But for now, let’s get one thing straight.” He threw the smoldering remains of his cigarette into the snow, turning to look at Minkowski for the first time since the start of their conversation. “I’m not here for you. I’m here to make sure nothing happens to the only person here Maxwell gave a damn about. I’m here because I don’t trust that Dr. Pryce is conveniently gone. I’m here because for some goddamn, insufferable reason I am vaguely worried about Eiffel. And I am here because if there’s a single person left in this world that I trust it’s Captain Isabel Lovelace. _I am not here for you._”

Minkowski nodded in understanding. “I expected nothing more.”

“Glad we’ve had this talk.”

“There is, however, something I need to get straight with you,” Minkowski added. “I have no illusions of loyalty between us. I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t shoot Maxwell, or that you didn’t blow up one of my men. We aren’t friends, and I’m not your commander. But as long as you’re here, I will take responsibility for your safety and for safety of all of us. So, if you do anything to jeopardize that safety then for the sake of everyone here, I will shoot you too.”

Jacobi smiled. The list continued. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Glad we’ve had this talk,” Minkowski echoed his words. “Don’t burn the house down with that,” she added, nodding to the lighter in his left hand. She didn’t wait for a response before turning and reentering the home.

Twenty-one days since returning to Earth.

Zero days since Renée Minkowski quietly broke down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Wolf 359 fic so I hope it's good (I know I'm like two years late to the party, sorry). If you like it and want to read more please leave a kudos and a comment! See you in the next chapter, Dear Readers. And thank you for getting this far.


	2. Remember When We Used To Pretend We Had Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making it back to Earth alive was all fine and well, but for Captain Isabel Lovelace simply being alive wasn't good enough to count as living. Plus menaces to society, dismantling corrupt mega corporations, and creatively unpleasant ways at being made useful.

December 21st, 2016

23 days since returning to Earth

The showerhead was switched off, and Lovelace stepped out onto the rug next to the tub. The bathroom was warm with steam from her shower, and as Lovelace stepped in front of the sink to brush her teeth her reflection in the mirror was entirely obscured. She liked it that way.

Teeth were brushed, hair was pulled back, deodorant was applied, clothes were put on. By now the steam on the mirror had started to dissipate, and her reflection could be seen. Lovelace found herself staring at it, eyes scrutinizing, as if she could intimidate it into revealing some physical imperfection that would distinguish her from Isabel Lovelace. The real Isabel Lovelace.

The reflection glared back. It revealed nothing.

She let down her hair, shaking out the curls. The reflection mimicked every movement. Not a strand was out of place.

Maybe she would cut her hair.

“Lovelace!” The sound of Jacobi banging on the bathroom door shook Lovelace out of her inspections. “If you took all of the hot water again, I swear to god.”

“What was that?” Lovelace called. “You want me to take all the hot water? Anything for you, Jacobi.”

“You’re a menace to society,” she could hear Jacobi grumble, his footsteps retreating back to his room.

“A menace to society,” Lovelace echoed. Maybe he was more on the nose with that than he realized.

The morning went by in a blur, as did most of the days lately. Minkowski made pancakes (she did not take up Eiffel’s suggestion on strawberry flavored), Jacobi complained about the pancakes, Hera and Eiffel made attempts at conversation, Minkowski did her best to participate, Jacobi did his best to be snide, and Miranda reacted pleasantly to everyone (Lovelace didn’t buy it for a second).

As always after breakfast everyone broke off into their own routines. Jacobi sat in his spot on the couch, reading a book Lovelace knew he wasn’t paying attention to. Miranda went into the office to talk with Hera about computer stuff Lovelace didn’t understand (Hera was teaching Miranda too much). Eiffel would suggest an activity to do with anyone who might be fractionally interested; Hera was the only one ever enthusiastic about this, but Minkowski did her best to pretend as well. At some point Eiffel would disappear upstairs, and Minkowski would stare off into space out of the living room window. By this time Lovelace would go for her run; she hated how idle everyone seemed, how complacent everything felt. She would run two miles in the direction of the nearest town, and she would run the two miles back. Her body still wasn’t up to what it had been before leaving Earth all of those years ago, but it was better since the day they arrived exactly three weeks ago.

Her body. Hah.

She would return home, shower again, and find somewhere quiet to sit. To read. At least, that’s what they all said. They had all developed a sudden fascination with reading. Not that none of them had liked reading before (with maybe the exception of Eiffel), but they hadn’t exactly had the multiple hours a day to dedicate to it. Let alone staring blankly at pages they didn’t even pretend to process. No one brought it up, so the subject was never addressed. Maybe Hera would point it out someday. Or maybe Hera was pretending to read too.

Lovelace turned another page in her book. She was nearing the end. She would have to grab another; might as well keep up the charade.

“Hera, could you tell someone downstairs to add ‘books’ to the next grocery list?” Lovelace asked.

A pause. “Commander Minkowski has it covered,” Hera answered.

“Thank you, Hera.”

“I don’t suppose the genre matters?” Hera asked.

“Not unless they got genres on dismantling corrupt mega corporations,” Lovelace said, turning another page.

“Sounds like dystopia,” Hera said. “It’s really popular in young adult fiction.”

Lovelace paused. “How do you know that?”

Hera scoffed. “I’m a second generation Sensus Unit with enough processing power to run an entire space station, remember?”

“Hera.”

“Andy maybe I spend some of my newly increased free time surfing the web, so what?”

“You know how Minkowski doesn’t like us using the internet,” Lovelace reminded her.

“Doug uses it all the time,” Hera argued.

“Eiffel also isn’t an incomprehensibly powerful Artificial Intelligence that Goddard could definitely track to our location.”

“Right, he isn’t,” Hera agreed. “Which means he also isn’t proficient in hiding any traceable data. I’m constantly monitoring not only mine but also anyone else’s internet activity for danger. Miranda is helping too.”

Lovelace made a face. “Of course. The queen of Goddard Futuristics herself definitely isn’t manipulating you and selling us out behind your back.”

“I trust her,” Hera said, a little defensively. “If I of all people can trust her, why can’t you?”

“There is that pesky paranoia business, remember?” Lovelace turned a page. She was almost out of pages.

Hera sighed. “Maybe if you tried talking to her—”

Lovelace laughed. “Fat chance.”

“—You’d realize there’s nothing to worry about!”

“Hera.”

“What?!”

“You glitched.”

Hera didn’t respond; she hadn’t noticed. Lovelace almost felt bad for pointing it out at all. Almost.

“You don’t have to put on a brave face in front of us, Hera,” Lovelace said. “It’s okay to still be hurt by what she did.”

“Is it?” Hera asked. “How can I hold her accountable for something she doesn’t remember doing? How is that fair to the person she is now? I can’t forget everything that happened but it’s not like I can take it out on her anymore. Even if I did it wouldn’t change anything; it wouldn’t make things better. Everything she did still happened, and it’s never going to go away completely. But I don’t want to spend any more of my life agonizing over it. There’s too much happening here and now.”

Lovelace turned another page. “You sound just like Minkowski.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

Lovelace didn’t immediately respond. “Do what you need to do, Hera. But I can’t just forget so easily.”

“I’m not trying to forget,” Hera said. “I’m trying to move on.”

Another page turned.

“That’s a good book,” Hera commented. “It sure was comforting to know that Gavroche lived until the end.”

“Sure is,” Lovelace agreed. She turned another page. Only a few left now.

“Except he didn’t,” Hera said. “He’s shot and killed at the barricade. You’re already passed that part by now.”

Lovelace paused. “Oh.”

Hera didn’t say anything more; there was nothing more to say.

* * *

The skies were clear by the time midafternoon hit, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a chill in the air. Lovelace managed to suppress a shiver, but she still buried her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. Wood splintered with the rise and fall of an axe, breaking up the silence of the winter wonderland that surrounded the house. It was a different silence than space, like a breath being held, as opposed to no breath having been present to begin with. But just as cold. Just as false. Lovelace knew well enough silence didn’t mean you were alone. You were never truly alone. Silence simply meant that whatever surrounded you didn’t want to be observed in return.

More splintering; the silence continued to be disturbed. Lovelace liked it better that way.

“Can I help you?”

“Don’t we already have a decent supply of wood chopped?” Lovelace inquired.

“Yes,” Jacobi answered. “But for once it’s actually not snowing today, and we might as well get ahead before we have another several days of nonstop snowfall.” The axe continued to rise and fall.

“Always thinking ahead,” Lovelace commended, clearly not surprised.

“Can I help you?” Jacobi repeated, less patiently this time (not that he was entirely patient the first time).

“How’s your reading coming?” Lovelace asked.

Jacobi laughed. “I’d say as well as yours. Why?”

“If that’s the case you must be just as ready to lose your head as I am.” It wasn’t a question.

“Maybe,” Jacobi replied. “Or maybe I just really like reading. Your point?”

“My point is it’s been over three weeks and we haven’t . . . done anything,” Lovelace explained. “We’re alive, sure. And we’ve gotten Hera online and no longer stuffed in an external hard drive, but that’s the bare minimum. I didn’t come back just to make it by with the bare minimum.” The axe rose.

“That’s funny, because I recall you saying that you really wanted to go on a nice quiet vacation when you got home,” Jacobi reminded her. “The Canadian wilderness not quiet enough for you?”

“Reality is never as idealistic as we hope.” The axe fell.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Jacobi sighed. “Can I help you?”

“Maybe,” Lovelace considered her words. “How bored are you?”

Jacobi stopped, turning to look at Lovelace. “Indescribably.”

“Maybe we could do something about that.”

The axe rose again, this time falling into the stump Jacobi had been using as a pedestal for the logs. “And you have something in mind?”

“You’re a special intelligence agent. Tell me, where do you gather intelligence on Goddard Futuristics?”

Jacobi whistled. “Nowhere you can reach.”

“What about a highly capable second generation Sensus Unit with enough processing power to run an entire space station?” Lovelace asked.

For a moment, she almost thought Jacobi would laugh at that.

“Need I remind you,” he said at length. “That Hera was created by Goddard? That maybe there’s programs in place to always be one step ahead of her for these exact scenarios?”

“And need I remind you that Hera took down Dr. Pryce entirely on her own?” Lovelace said. “I think it’s time we’ve moved on from doubting her capabilities.”

“I’m not saying that Hera isn’t capable,” Jacobi argued. “I’m saying that she’s been defiant in the past and that didn’t work out too well for her.”

“But she’s gotten a lot more experience since then,” Lovelace pressed. “And she’s got a much longer reach than we do at the moment. You have any better ideas?”

Jacobi didn’t immediately answer. “Has Hera even agreed to any of this?” he eventually asked.

“I haven’t asked her yet—”

“Oh, perfect.”

“—But I’m sure she could be persuaded,” Lovelace continued.

“And if she can’t?”

It was Lovelace’s turn to pause. “We’ll cross that bridge if we have to,” she decided. “But we’re not going to know unless we try.”

Jacobi still didn’t look convinced, but Lovelace knew well enough that he wouldn’t pass up a suggestion like this so easily, no matter how risky it sounded.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But if she says no, we drop it. We figure out another plan. Got it?”

Lovelace felt the faintest hints of a smile forming on her face. “She won’t say no.”

* * *

“Absolutely not.”

“You haven’t even heard us out, Hera,” Lovelace argued, tapping her foot impatiently on the carpet of the office room floor.

“I don’t need you hear you out,” Hera retorted. “The plan is to lie low for a while until we’re sure they aren’t going to track us down from the Urania wreckage. If we start poking around now it could compromise everything.”

“I mean, if you can’t handle it, I understand,” Lovelace said.

“Who said anything about me not being able to handle it?!” Hera asked.

“Well, like you said earlier,” Lovelace began. “You’re monitoring all activity from our location very closely and will know the second something seems even remotely suspicious, isn’t that right? The only reason I could see this not working is if you didn’t think you could do it.”

“I am perfectly capable of accessing any information Goddard has stored in a cloud without detection.” Hera sounded proud, confident. That’s exactly what Lovelace needed.

“Then what is the problem?” Lovelace pressed.

Hera was silent.

“They’re not going to have any seriously damning information stored on a cloud,” Jacobi put in. “But if we’re lucky we might find some useful intel that, between all of our experiences working for them, could be pieced together into something comprehensible. Not to mention, it’ll be a good chance for you to get a feel for any digital strengths or weaknesses.”

“Commander Minkowski isn’t going to like it,” Hera said.

“Commander Minkowski isn’t our commander anymore,” Lovelace said. “She’ll get over it.”

“I don’t have optimal processing power here,” Hera added, in what sounded to Lovelace like a final effort to find an excuse. She was caving.

“Just do what you can for now and we’ll work our way from there,” Lovelace said. “This isn’t a major assault, just a chance to get a tiny bit of leverage so we can move forward.”

Hera was silent again; thinking. She didn’t need that much time to think.

“Fine,” Hera sighed after a moment. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Thank you, Hera,” Lovelace said as Jacobi sat down in the office chair behind the desk, ready to offer any tech support Hera might need during the endeavor. It wasn’t a secret that tech support wasn’t Jacobi’s strong point, but Lovelace wouldn’t be surprised if he had picked up a thing or two during his time with Maxwell. He’d always been full of surprises, after all.

“It’s going to take a lot of effort to do this quietly,” Hera explained. “So, please, no unnecessary commentary throughout the duration of this excursion.”

“Not a peep,” Lovelace agreed.

Jacobi simply nodded.

The room was silent, save for the hum of the many servers along the walls. It wasn’t an ideal setup, but it was the best they could do with their current conditions. Miranda had occasionally commented about Hera ideally having more servers, Hera herself often piping up to emphasize the point. Eiffel would be the only one ever visibly concerned during these conversations, asking every time if Hera was going to be okay. She always said yes. No reason to cause undue worry. Though it was still there, just below the surface. Lovelace couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. Not only about Hera, but about everyone. This place existed in a constant fog of it; a thick layer of steam obscuring hopes for the future like a face in a mirror. No one really spoke of it, not in any way that mattered or made a difference. Nothing had changed. They were still prisoners of Goddard, trapped in hiding and isolation.

A second Hephaestus.

Lovelace gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the roaring hum in her ears. She wasn’t going to live like this, none of them were. Even if she had to take Goddard apart on her own, brick by brick, she wouldn’t let this continue.

Several minutes had passed, or had it only been seconds? Lovelace suppressed the urge to drum her fingers along her arm, keeping her word to Hera to not make a sound. How long would this take?

She squeezed her eyelids closed. The humming was getting louder. What was wrong with her?

_Oh._ The hum wasn’t in her head. It was all around her, vibrating the floor beneath her feet. It was the servers.

“Hera . . .?” Lovelace said carefully.

“One moment, I think I’ve—”

Everything stopped instantly. No more hum, no more lights on above their heads, no more Hera.

For a moment, neither Lovelace nor Jacobi moved.

“Hera?” Jacobi cautiously pressed a button on the keyboard in front of him. The monitor was dark.

“Hera?” Lovelace said, more insistently this time. “Hera!”

The sound of footsteps approached quickly and heavily, just a moment before the office door was pushed open. “What the hell is going on?” Minkowski asked, her usually perfect bun slightly askew and a dusting of what looked like flour on her cheek. She had been in the process of cooking dinner. “Why isn’t Hera responding?”

Lovelace opened her mouth to answer but stopped when she heard more footsteps rushing down the stairs. “Renée, is something wrong with Hera?” Eiffel’s voice.

A third and final pair of footsteps, and a moment later Miranda had pushed her way past Minkowski and into the office. She looked around, almost appearing confused for a brief moment before turning her attention onto Lovelace and Jacobi. “What are you doing in here?”

“Are we not allowed?” Lovelace asked, a note of challenge in her voice.

Miranda groaned, pushing past Lovelace and shoving Jacobi in the chair away from the desk.

“Hey!”

Miranda ignored him, instead putting her attention into pressing a series of buttons on the keyboard before trying the computer’s power button. Nothing happened.

“The power is out,” she said, moving away from the desk and storming out of the room. Lovelace could hear her make her way into the laundry room, where the breaker box was located.

No one said anything.

Silence.

More silence.

A sudden surge of power, and the lights flickered back on. The ever-present hum of the servers steadily returned, and the sound of the heater kicked into gear.

“Hera?” Minkowski asked, still standing in the doorway to the office.

Silence. And then—

“—Got something,” Hera’s voice returned. “But I need a few . . . more . . .”

“Hera?!” Lovelace hadn’t intended her voice to shake. Had she been holding her breath?

“She’s going to need some time to reboot,” Miranda said, appearing just beyond Minkowski. “Someone blew a fuse.”

Lovelace could see Jacobi relax next to her. Just a fuse.

“And how did that happen?” Minkowski asked, her stern gaze shifting between Miranda and Lovelace.

“We aren’t exactly working out of a high-tech lab,” Jacobi said. “It’s a miracle we hadn’t blown a fuse until now.”

“But why did it happen just now?” Minkowski pressed, her gaze only on Lovelace.

“Probably because Hera was using most of her available processing power trying to break through Goddard’s system.” There was no reason to lie.

“Wait, what?!” Eiffel exclaimed, still out of view; he must have been standing just beyond the wall, in front of the stairs.

Minkowski held up a hand; her polite way of telling someone to shut up. “You want to explain to me why Hera was doing that?”

“Not really, no,” Jacobi answered.

“Shut up, Jacobi.” Her not-so-polite way of telling someone to shut up.

“Because I asked her to,” Lovelace answered. “Is that a problem?” She raised an eyebrow in question, a casual sign of confidence in her decision. A distraction from her shaking hands tucked strategically underneath her arms folded across her chest.

“Is that a—” Minkowski cut herself off. “You want to run that by me again?”

“I think you heard me well enough the first time,” Lovelace answered coolly.

Minkowski laughed; there wasn’t a drop of humor behind it. “Isabel. Can I talk to you? Privately?”

Lovelace almost considered putting up a fight. She didn’t look away from Minkowski, but she could feel Miranda’s eyes burning into her, as if searching for any weaknesses she could exploit. Lovelace couldn’t afford to let her find any, not so easily.

But her hands were shaking. And sooner or later, someone would notice.

“Fine,” Lovelace said, making her way out of the room and towards the back door of the house. She did not look at Jacobi’s guilty expression, at Eiffel’s worried eyes, at Minkowski biting her lip impatiently, and she certainly did not look at Miranda’s smug grin.

That was what she saw, right?

Lovelace was already standing several paces away from the back porch when she heard the door slam shut, the crunch of snow beneath Minkowski’s boots following soon after.

“What the absolute hell happened in there?” Minkowski demanded, glaring up at Lovelace. She hadn’t noticed before, but she stood at least three inches taller than Minkowski.

“I was _trying to do something_,” Lovelace explained. “Something besides sitting here and just waiting for them to find us and finish was Cutter and Dr. Pryce started.”

“So, you thought Hera was conveniently expendable enough to get results at a more agreeable speed for you?” Minkowski shot back.

“Hera said she could handle it, and last I checked we had agreed to believe her from now on.”

“Do not turn this around on me,” Minkowski snapped. “This has nothing to do with me doubting Hera and everything to do with you being reckless and going against the plan we had all agreed on.”

“We all agreed on?” Lovelace questioned, her voice gradually raising. “Because to me it felt more like a plan you decided on and expected the rest of us to just fall in line like good little officers. It’s so easy for you to think that you’re in charge when Eiffel now listens to everything you say, and Hera hasn’t grasped the concept that we don’t have a chain of command anymore. The second we stepped off of the Urania we no longer had to take orders from you, so why exactly do you think you can still control us?!”

Minkowski’s eyes widened, her expression so taken aback it almost looked like she had been struck.

“I,” Lovelace paused, the fire she had felt only a second before quickly burning out. “I can’t let them take anyone else.”

Minkowski didn’t say anything; it seemed as if she were waiting.

“They’re going to find us,” Lovelace continued. “Whether it’s from us getting sloppy or them just being that good at tracking people down, they will find us. And we’re not going to have the advantage of being eight lightyears from Earth and full of a hell of a lot of desperation like we did on the Hephaestus. I can’t just sit here, waiting for that to happen on some slim chance that if we’re patient enough maybe a few years down the road we can come up with something clever enough to get them off our backs long term.”

Minkowski remained quiet; she hadn’t so much as blinked since Lovelace started talking. She was good at not blinking.

“And I don’t think they’re going to be as patient as Cutter,” Lovelace said. Her voice had always been so steady, so strong. But in that moment, it felt far too weak. “I don’t think they’re going to be satisfied with keeping us around and finding creatively unpleasant ways of making us useful. They’re going to cut off every loose end they can, because that’s what people like them do. No more Jacobi, no more Eiffel, and no more Minkowski. Maybe if they’re feeling generous, they’ll be satisfied with just wiping Hera’s brain and restarting. I’m not going to pretend I care too much about what’ll happen to Pryce. But do you know where I’ll be in all of this? Still here. Because if a bullet to the head can’t get rid of me, I’m not sure what will at this point. I’ll be still here, and I’ll have to watch again as everyone I love goes away. And I can’t. Do. That. _Again_.”

Minkowski still had not moved.

“Well, don’t just stand there, dammit! Say something!”

Minkowski took a step forward, and then another. And another.

Lovelace instinctively stiffened as Minkowski wrapped her arms around her, not sure what she had been expecting but it wasn’t that. For a while neither of them moved; neither of them spoke.

“Goddammit, Isabel,” Minkowski muttered. “You could have just talked to me.”

“Because we’re all so good at that,” Lovelace laughed, her voice cracking on the last word.

“Well,” Minkowski said. “We’ve gotta start somewhere.”

The silence returned, but Lovelace relaxed, her arms wrapping around Minkowski as well.

“As nice as this is,” Lovelace said after a moment. “It’s cold, and I didn’t exactly stop to grab my coat on the way out.”

They both laughed; it was the most genuine sound Lovelace had heard in a while.

Minkowski was the first to let go. “I was in the middle of getting dinner ready, anyways,” she said. “And don’t think for a minute you’re off the hook. You and Jacobi and Hera are all getting an earful tonight.”

“I would expect nothing less, Commander.”

Minkowski paused, already halfway turned towards the house. “I’m not anyone’s commander anymore.”

“No. You are,” Lovelace said, walking towards the porch. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

Minkowski hesitated a moment. “Latkes,” she said.

“Ah. Well, for both your and Jacobi’s sakes I hope they aren’t blueberry.”

Lovelace didn’t look behind to see if Minkowski was following her inside. She didn’t need to.

* * *

“Hera?” Lovelace called, turning down the corner of the page of the book she was reading and momentarily closing it.

“Yes?” Hera asked, the speaker in the shared bedroom crackling faintly. Lovelace made a mental note to let Minkowski or Miranda know about it when either of them came up to go to bed.

“How . . . are you?”

Silence. “I’m fine,” Hera said after a moment.

“Hera.”

“I’m . . . tired, okay?”

“About earlier—”

“You don’t have to say anything, Captain,” Hera interrupted. “I’m not upset.”

“Hera.”

“Okay, so I’m a little upset,” she amended. “But I agreed to go along with your idea. It’s not _entirely_ your fault.”

“I am sorry, though,” Lovelace said. “Even if you and Pryce are sure no one detected you, it was still far too dangerous to put you in that situation. Not to mention, I know how unpleasant rebooting can be.”

“Maybe next time you’ll consider those possibilities more carefully,” Hera said.

“I will,” Lovelace agreed.

Hera sighed. “If that’s the case, then that’s the best I can ask for. Thank you, Lovelace. For making sure I was alright.”

“You’re welcome, Hera.”

The room returned to quiet, the faint sounds of floorboards squeaking downstairs, and the shower running in the upstairs bathroom were the only signs of life to be heard. Lovelace returned to her book, opening to the page she had dog-eared.

“So,” Lovelace said after a moment. “This Valjean guy. His life really sucks, huh?”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll get worse,” Hera said, her voice sounding as if she were smiling, if that were something Hera could do. “But it’ll get better too.”

“Hmm,” Lovelace thought about that. Both better and worse, huh?

She turned to the next page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those here for chapter two, thank you! And for those who left kudos and comments and reblogged the link to this fic from my tumblr, thank you! I'm having so much fun writing this and I'm immensely excited for chapter three. If you enjoy this fic and want to see more, please help a tired writer out by leaving kudos and comments on what you think so far. Kudos and comments are better than blueberry pancakes for writers, and really help motivate us to keep at it every day. See you in the next chapter, Dear Readers. And thank you for all of your support so far.


	3. I'm Sure It's Fine - Oh Nevermind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days that should be terrible can actually end up being pretty nice, but some days that should be great can really take a turn for the worst. For former Communications Officer Doug Eiffel, these kinds of days really come hand-in-hand. Plus good cheer and all that jazz, probably a herald of death or something, and super intense, confusing science stuff.

December 24th, 2016

26 days since returning to Earth

“Check.”

Eiffel glared down at the board, his options for moves steadily running out.

“Maybe if you moved your bishop—”

“No hints, I can do this,” Eiffel said, considering for only a moment longer before moving his knight.

“Queen to C4,” Hera said, and Eiffel moved her piece appropriately. Right to where his aforementioned bishop sat. Eiffel sighed, removing his piece from the board and adding it to the alarmingly large cluster of pieces Hera had taken in the past fifteen minutes.

“Are you sure my king can’t do something a little more exciting than one move at a time?” Eiffel asked, staring down at his last two pieces on the board solemnly.

“I’m afraid not,” Hera answered. “But if you move your final pawn up two spaces it can take my rook.”

“Hera,” Eiffel groaned.

“Sorry! Sorry, no hints,” Hera suppressed a giggle, and Eiffel could almost imagine her mimicking zipping her nonexistent lips shut.

Another moment of consideration, and Eiffel followed Hera’s advice and took her rook.

“Queen to H4,” Hera said.

“Oh, come on!” Eiffel remorsefully removed his pawn from the board, placing Hera’s queen where it once stood. He was down to only his king now.

A minute went by, two more moves played each. “Checkmate,” Hera said, obviously beaming.

Eiffel let his head fall to the kitchen table in defeat. “How are you so good at this?”

“My intelligence is higher than the cumulative population of a small town?” Hera offered. “If we’re being conservative?”

“New question: how am I so bad at this?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it too much,” Hera encouraged. “You’ve only just relearned how to play a couple of days ago and playing against me isn’t exactly fair odds. Maybe if you tried Jacobi?”

Eiffel’s head shot up. “Hey Jacobi!”

“The answer is no,” Jacobi said from his spot on the couch, aimlessly turning another page in the book he was reading. Eiffel was sure he had seen Jacobi finish that book already; it couldn’t be that interesting to want to read it twice, right?

“Aw, come on,” Eiffel complained. “Like what you’re doing is so important.”

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Jacobi countered. “If you’re so determined to get your ass kicked again, ask Lovelace.”

Eiffel turned to where Lovelace sat in front of the fireplace, giving her his most irresistible expression.

“Whatever puppy dog eyes you’re giving me aren’t going to work,” Lovelace said, stoking the fire. “Try Minkowski.”

Eiffel sighed. “Hera?”

“Already asked her. She’ll be down in a minute.”

“Thank you.”

The back door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and snow.

“Shut the door!” Lovelace called from the living room.

“Right, sorry,” Miranda said, closing the door behind her with her foot, both of her hands occupied with the two logs she was carrying. She passed through the kitchen and set the logs down on the hearth next to Lovelace. “The snow is blowing pretty hard so the logs on the porch are all a little damp. I’ll add ‘tarp’ to the grocery list.”

Lovelace didn’t respond; maybe she was too occupied to notice Miranda speaking? Somehow, Eiffel doubted it.

Heavy footsteps came quickly down the stairs, and a moment later a disheveled Minkowski appeared in the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her freshly washed hair slapping against her face from her momentum.

“Uh . . .” Eiffel looked between Minkowski and the closest camera mounted in the corner of the kitchen. “Hera?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Commander,” Hera assured her, though she sounded uncertain.

“You said Doug needed my help,” Minkowski huffed, her eyes darting between Eiffel and the aforementioned camera.

“He does,” Hera explained. “In . . . chess.”

Minkowski blinked, pausing for a moment before sighing and running her fingers through her hair. “I thought something was wrong.”

“If by wrong you mean I keep losing spectacularly against Hera, who, after belated consideration was probably not a good choice of opponent, then yes?” Eiffel shrugged apologetically.

“Looking back, I probably could have phrased the request better, too,” Hera added.

“Maybe just a little,” Minkowski agreed, sitting down in the chair across from Eiffel. “It’s late. Do you really want to get into a game now?”

“With my track record, this’ll be over before you know it,” Eiffel said. “Come on, Renée; one game?”

“It is Christmas,” Lovelace pointed out.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Jacobi corrected. “And that’s relevant to us because?”

“I don’t know,” Lovelace said. “Good cheer and all that jazz?”

“Oh, so your area of expertise.”

“Shut up, Jacobi.”

“One game,” Minkowski agreed, much to Eiffel’s satisfaction. “And then I’m going to bed, as should the rest of you.”

“Yes, mom,” Lovelace groaned.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Alright,” Eiffel clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms in anticipation.” Prepare to be blown away by my chess mastery!”

Minkowski raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

“My chess mediocracy?” Eiffel tried.

Minkowski’s expression didn’t budge.

“My . . . chess amateurity?”

“There you go.”

“But I will keep you on the edge of your seat for a full twenty minutes!” Eiffel exclaimed. “Hera; set a timer, if you would, for twenty minutes. I have a point to prove.”

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Hera said, sounding for some reason pleased with herself. Eiffel made a mental note to ask her about that later.

The game, in fact, did not reach the full promised twenty minutes. Whether Eiffel had gotten too cocky against his new opponent, or whether Hera had simply been going just that easy on him during all of their previous matches, Eiffel couldn’t tell. But it only took Minkowski thirteen minutes to put his king in checkmate. Needless to say, he didn’t feel like playing chess anymore that night.

Minkowski excused herself and made her way upstairs, the sound of her bedroom door could be heard closing behind her. Lovelace and Jacobi made no indication that either one of them planned to move, and as far as Eiffel could tell, Miranda had disappeared into the office again. He looked at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. 11:32. Jacobi usually didn’t turn up to go to bed until sometime after midnight, so Eiffel decided it was best to shower now before he made another ruckus trying to find his way to his bed in the dark after Jacobi had already turned off the light. That was an argument he’d rather not repeat. Again.

It was almost midnight by the time he finished up in the bathroom and made his way to his bed, lying down and scrolling through some of the photos on his phone he had taken earlier that day.

“I saw a deer today,” he said to Hera. “Got a couple of good pictures too. Sending them to you now.”

“It’s smaller than I would have expected,” Hera commented. “Where are the antlers?”

“I think it’s a doe,” Eiffel said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, though; my memory is a bit fuzzy.”

Hera didn’t respond. Maybe that wasn’t the most appropriate joke he could have made?

Eiffel coughed. “Too soon?”

Hera still didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry. That might have been tasteless.”

“Did you see anything else interesting?” Hera asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

“Lots of snow,” Eiffel said. “We passed a snowman out in a field some kids must have built. Unfortunately, Jacobi was driving too fast for me to get a good picture. I’ll try again if we pass another one some other time.”

“We’ve still got a couple more months of winter,” Hera said. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities.”

“Oh, but I did nail Jacobi in the back of the head with a snowball in the parking lot,” Eiffel added. “He, uh, wasn’t too happy about that.”

“How are you still alive right now?”

“Not sure,” Eiffel admitted. “He did get me back by dumping snow down the back of my shirt when we got home, though. He plays dirty, but I probably deserved that.”

“You’re lucky,” Hera joked. “I would have expected him to dump your body in a snowdrift two miles down the road.”

“And no longer get to see this beautiful face every day? Please, Jacobi’s smarter than that.”

They both laughed, probably harder than was actually warranted. Laughter wasn’t a regular occurrence around there; maybe they both needed the excuse to get in as much as they could to make up for lost time? At least, that was Eiffel’s excuse.

“Well,” Eiffel said, coughing to clear his throat. “I should probably take Renée’s advice and actually sleep.”

“Should I set an alarm for the morning?” Hera asked. “It is Christmas, after all.”

Eiffel shrugged. “To be honest, Hera? I don’t really get the hype. Maybe if we were living with our families and doing whatever people do for Christmas, but right now? It just feels like another day.”

Hera was quiet for a moment. “Can’t say I disagree,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I have the best grasp on holidays here.”

“You and me both,” Eiffel said. “I’ll just wake up when I wake up.”

“Goodnight, Doug.”

“Goodnight, Hera.”

The lamp next to his bed was switched off, and the world went dark.

* * *

December 25th, 2016

27 days since returning to Earth

It felt like only moments had passed between when Eiffel fell asleep and when he opened his eyes to see sunlight pouring in through the bedroom window. He hadn’t dreamed, or if he had he didn’t remember what the dreams had been about, but as he did most mornings, he woke feeling a vague sense of dread, as if there was something on the edge of his consciousness trying to warn him about oncoming danger.

He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, cleared his throat, and looked around the room. It was empty, as usual. Jacobi always woke up before he did. Now that Eiffel thought about it, he couldn’t recall ever actually seeing Jacobi sleep. He had seen him curled up underneath his blanket, but based on his frequent movements, Eiffel was always sure he was still awake.

Getting up, he walked out of the room, the smell of breakfast hitting him instantly as the door opened. Pancakes. He was starting to wonder if Minkowski knew how to make anything else breakfast related. Maybe she had just missed pancakes that much.

The stairs creaked as Eiffel made his way down them, just like how most of the house creaked. He wondered if Eiffel, the old Eiffel, would have been spooked by this. He wondered if he should be too.

“I knew it was pancakes,” Eiffel exclaimed as he entered the kitchen, grabbing a plate off of the counter and setting it in front of his usual seat before fixing himself a cup of coffee.

“How could you have possibly guessed that,” Jacobi asked, already seated at the table. “It’s not like we haven’t had the exact same breakfast for the past eight days.”

“I did make bacon a couple of days ago,” Lovelace reminded him, taking a sip from her own mug of coffee.

“Right, right,” Jacobi said. “We did have bacon. And pancakes.”

“Maple syrup compliments bacon well,” Hera put in. “Or so I’m told.”

“Pancakes are not a prerequisite for pulling out the maple syrup.”

“You’re just jealous because you can’t make pancakes.” Lovelace continued to sip her coffee.

“I resent that statement,” Jacobi said, glaring at Lovelace.

“And if you don’t stop complaining, you won’t get any,” Minkowski cautioned. “Doug, give me your plate.”

Eiffel leaned back in his seat, holding out the plate to Minkowski.

“I think the last person to the table should be the last person to get a pancake.”

“Shut up, Jacobi,” Lovelace and Minkowski said in unison.

The room quieted; Lovelace stood to fill up her mug, Jacobi idly did . . . something . . . on his phone, Minkowski continued to cook the rest of the batter, and Miranda, as usual, seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

Eiffel started on the pancake. “Strawberry?” he asked after taking his first bite.

Minkowski didn’t respond, her back turned to him so he couldn’t see her expression.

“We ran out of blueberries,” Lovelace said, returning to her seat. Was she smiling?

“The gods have finally shown mercy upon us.”

“Shut up, Jacobi.”

More pancakes were distributed as they were cooked, Minkowski eventually sitting down at the head of the table once she was done, her own plate of pancakes in hand. There was a lull in conversation as everyone ate, even Hera remained quiet.

“So,” Eiffel eventually said, dragging out the word probably longer than necessary to fill the silence. “Christmas, huh? Anyone have any riveting plans for the day?”

Minkowski looked up from her plate, her eyes meeting Lovelace’s for a moment. “Did you have any plans, Doug?” she asked, conveniently ignoring his own question.

“Not particularly,” he said. “. . . Should I?” He had an uncomfortable feeling that he had forgotten something important. He did remember to finish the laundry yesterday, right?

“No, no,” Minkowski said, shaking her head. “But, did you want to?”

“Um,” he didn’t know how to answer. “Whatever you think I didn’t do, I swear I did, in fact, do.”

“Are you sure?” Lovelace asked. She looked like she was teasing him.

“Well, now I’m not sure of anything,” Eiffel complained. “Hera, what monumental task did I forget this time?”

“Ignore Captain Lovelace, she’s just messing with you,” Hera assured him.

“Or am I?” Lovelace winked.

“Am I missing something here?!”

Minkowski stared at him, as if she were trying to put together two complicated pieces of a puzzle. “You don’t remember, huh.” She sounded defeated. She often sounded defeated talking to him. He was starting to hate that.

“I don’t,” Eiffel affirmed. He was beginning to think this had nothing to do with a task he overlooked.

“Well, maybe if we weren’t so cagey and just came right out and said it,” Hera sighed. “Happy Birthday, Doug.”

It took a moment for the realization to hit. “Oh.” Right.

“Wait, do you remember?” Lovelace asked, managing to look both hopeful and concerned.

“Yes, but no,” Eiffel explained. “Just from the logs. I don’t _actually_ remember.” That particular piece of information he’d gathered had slipped his mind. Whether or not that was purposeful, well, he pushed that thought away to deal with later.

The disappointment in the room could be cut with a knife. Eiffel almost wished he had slept in.

“Well, we should do something today to celebrate,” Hera said, her voice taking on a note of enthusiasm. “Since _someone_ didn’t clue us in about his birthday earlier.”

“That’s the last time I tell Lovelace anything,” Jacobi grumbled.

“You’re still not off the hook, by the way,” Lovelace told him.

“Minkowski, I give you full permission to shoot me before next November.”

“But on a less murderous note,” Hera said, trying to change the subject. “Seriously, Doug. A game? Movies? One of those recipes I have saved for special occasions? We don’t actually have anything life-altering to do today, and the storm outside is too strong to justify a grocery run. Any ideas?”

Eiffel cleared his throat. “As great as that sounds,” he said, grabbing his plate and standing up. “I was really hoping to catch a few more Z’s after breakfast. All those mental backflips trying to beat you at chess yesterday really wore me out.”

“Oh,” Hera’s voice faltered. More disappointment. “Maybe something later, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” he drained his mug and put his dishes into the sink. Miranda was scheduled to wash them today. “Thanks for the breakfast, Renée. It was excellent as ever.”

He didn’t wait for a response before exiting the kitchen and making his way upstairs.

His throat hurt.

* * *

Eiffel didn’t sleep a wink.

He’d given it a valiant effort for about twenty minutes before grabbing his phone off of his bedside table and plugging in his earbuds. He had finished listening to the logs a while ago, back on the Urania, but he still referred back to them sometimes. He told himself he was being practical, that it made sense to get all of the information that the old Eiffel had to offer. He absolutely did not acknowledge that part of it was because maybe, just maybe, if he listened to them enough the pieces would fit together again. That he would be able to start filling in the blanks, and Minkowski would stop looking so defeated every time they held a conversation longer than two seconds.

Hera was obviously aware that he wasn’t sleeping, but if she thought anything of it, she didn’t say anything. Eiffel almost wished she would. Everyone seemed to avoid talking these days, at least talking about anything beyond the immediate necessities. Not that he had the clearest reference for previous days. All he had were logs, and it was almost too hard to believe they were even real half of the time.

Eiffel coughed. He wasn’t getting anywhere with these. The recording was paused, and his phone was returned to the bedside table.

“Hera? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” came Hera’s reply. Why did he always ask her that, anyways? Where would she go?

“What do you think of snow?”

“Wet, cold, inconvenient. Probably a herald of death or something. Why?”

“I was thinking maybe someday we could rig up a system for you to make snowballs and throw them at people,” Eiffel said. “You’d probably have the best aim in the world.”

“Are you saying you want to have a snowball fight?” Hera asked.

“In theory, yes, but based on Jacobi’s reaction yesterday I don’t think anyone else would be too thrilled by the idea.”

Hera hummed. “Unfortunately, I think the storm outside is a bit too strong to attempt, anyways.”

“You’re probably right.”

“How did you sleep?” Hera asked.

Eiffel laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

“I thought it would be nicest to pretend I didn’t notice,” Hera admitted. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Eiffel said.

“I get the feeling you aren’t exactly thrilled about today,” Hera said after a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Eiffel coughed, resting his head back against the wall. “I,” he started, paused to think, and tried again. “Maybe later.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Hera asked, sounding concerned.

“Just a sore throat,” Eiffel said. “I’m probably getting a cold.”

Hera didn’t respond.

“Maybe ask someone downstairs to add cough syrup to the grocery list?” Eiffel suggested.

Hera still did not respond.

“Hera?” Eiffel asked. “You there?”

“I’m here,” she said. She sounded distant, distracted. “I think there’s some already in the bathroom downstairs, if memory serves.”

“Ah, thanks Hera,” Eiffel said, getting up.

She didn’t respond.

Eiffel headed downstairs, passing the living room and the kitchen on his way to the bathroom. He checked the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. No luck. He checked in the cabinet under the sink. No luck. He checked in the linen closet for good measure. Still no luck.

“Renée?” he asked, reentering the living room. “Where’s the cough syrup? Hera said it should be in the bathroom down here, but I can’t find it.”

Minkowski looked up from the book she was reading, her feet tucked underneath her in the chair she was sitting on. “It should be in the upstairs bathroom, why?”

“I think I’m getting sick,” he explained. “Kinda want to nip this in the bud before it turns into an actual cold. Sharing is caring, but I don’t think any of us want to share that. Renée?”

Minkowski had set her book down hard on the coffee table, practically jumping to her feet. “You’re getting sick?”

“Uh, yeah?” Eiffel hadn’t meant that to come out as a question, as if he were afraid of giving the wrong answer.

“What symptoms are you having?” Minkowski demanded, her eyes taking on that serious look Eiffel had learned to associate with “if you don’t cooperate this very instant so help me god”.

“Just a sore throat,” he said carefully.

“And coughing,” Hera put in.

“That happened, like, twice.”

“Hera?”

“I haven’t noticed anything else, Commander,” Hera said.

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t,” Minkowski stated.

“It’s just a cold,” Eiffel assured her. “It’s winter. I’ve been outside more than the rest of you, besides Jacobi. He even dumped snow down my shirt yesterday. It’s not a big deal.”

Minkowski scowled. “I’m really going to shoot him one of these days,” she muttered.

“It might just be a cold, Commander,” Hera said.

“And what if it isn’t?”

“Look, I’ll go to that clinic down the road from the market tomorrow and have them do whatever it is they do to prove it’s just a cold,” Eiffel said.

“That’s not exactly staying off the grid,” Hera pointed out.

“Then what’s the point of these fake ID’s Jacobi got for us?” Eiffel asked.

“When did this start?”

“What?”

“Your sore throat,” Minkowski said impatiently. “When did it start?”

“Last night,” Eiffel answered. “Though it wasn’t that noticeable until this morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?!”

“Because it’s just a cold!”

The front door opened, Lovelace dusting snow off of her shoulders as she stepped inside. “Why can I hear shouting over the howling snowstorm winds?”

“Why are you outside during a snowstorm?” Eiffel asked, genuinely confused.

“Making sure Jacobi doesn’t set the place on fire while he takes a smoke break,” Lovelace answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Shouting. Why.”

“Eiffel’s sick.”

“It’s just a cold, Hera!”

Lovelace stared at Eiffel for a moment before turning her gaze to Minkowski. “Do we know that?”

“We don’t.”

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just a sore throat,” Eiffel argued.

“Sounds uncomfortably familiar,” Lovelace said.

“Look, I get that you guys are a little panicky about this, and probably for good reason, but I promise I’m fine.”

“But what if you aren’t?” Minkowski asked.

“It’s not like there’s anything we could actually do about it,” Hera put in. “Dr. Hilbert isn’t here, and it’s not exactly something we can find a solution for on WebMD.”

“Hera, you’re really not helping,” Minkowski said.

“She’s not wrong, though,” Lovelace pointed out. “If it isn’t just a cold like Eiffel says, what exactly would we do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Minkowski snapped. “But we’d do _something._”

“Geez, you ask for cough syrup around here and it’s like you have the freaking plague or something,” Eiffel grumbled.

“This isn’t funny, Eiffel,” Minkowski barked, turning her sharp eyes back to him.

“I know; there’s nothing funny about you giving me that look like I’m going to drop dead on the floor because I _coughed_. There’s nothing funny about how some doctor that I don’t even remember decided to pump me full of a death virus, and I can’t even decide if I’m allowed to be angry about that because that guy’s dead! And there’s certainly nothing funny about how I can’t figure out if any of you are even concerned about that because you’re worried about me or a communications officer that isn’t me anymore!”

There were probably more things that he could have said, but a tickle in his throat made him stop to cough. Impeccable timing.

“Doug . . .” Hera started.

“Cough syrup. Upstairs bathroom, right?” Eiffel asked, a little breathless.

The room was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” Minkowski eventually said.

“Cool.” He didn’t stick around for further conversation.

The cough syrup was exactly where Eiffel had first looked for it in the downstairs bathroom, in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. He read the instructions, poured out the correct amount into a paper Dixie cup, and did his best to swallow it down. He didn’t know orange-flavored anything could taste so bad.

He returned to his room, half debating on locking the door behind him, but deciding that the argument with Jacobi it would certainly cause wasn’t worth the trouble. He settled for lying down on his bed, facing towards the wall and pulling up his blanket over his head.

A few minutes passed. It was starting to get warm under the blanket, but Eiffel made no moves to do anything about it.

“Doug?” Hera’s voice came quietly over the speaker in the room.

Part of Eiffel didn’t want to respond, to pretend to be asleep. Hera wouldn’t buy that for a second. And it’s not like she ever ignored him when he asked if she was there, anyways, no matter what time of day.

“Doug?” Hera tried again.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Hera,” Eiffel answered. “Maybe later.” His voice was no doubt muffled by the blanket, but he was certain Hera could hear him just fine.

“You said that earlier,” Hera reminded him. “It’s later now.”

“Later extended, then,” Eiffel said.

“Did the cough syrup help?”

“. . . Yes.”

“Your voice sounds strained.”

“My voice sounds normal!”

“Doug.”

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Eiffel coughed, unable to hold it in any longer. “Give it, like, an hour or something.”

“We’re just worried about you,” Hera said.

“Yeah, I got that,” Eiffel grumbled.

“Can you blame us?”

“I don’t know,” Eiffel snapped. “I don’t exactly remember that specific near-death experience. Not that I’d want to.” But he would have liked the option, though he wouldn’t say that out loud.

“Well, we remember it,” Hera said. “Commander Minkowski, Captain Lovelace and I at least. It was scary, and you got lucky. We don’t want to risk those odds again.”

“Like you said, we can’t do anything about it, anyways,” Eiffel pointed out.

“No,” Hera agreed. “But we’re still going to worry.”

Eiffel didn’t respond to that.

Hera continued. “I know things aren’t . . . great. For any of us. But about what you said earlier, I don’t know what that’s like. Sure, I’m not exactly a genius when it comes to being self-assured, but I do know who I am, and I know the person others think I am. So, I don’t know what you’re dealing with right now. I don’t know how to fix it. I want to, especially since I’m the one who broke it to begin with. But I can’t. And even if I could I don’t know if that would be the right thing to do because . . .” she trailed off. “But we are worried about you. You, Doug. The today you. Not just because of Communications Officer Eiffel, but because it’s _you_. And I won’t lie and say I don’t miss Eiffel. He was my best friend. But you’re still here, and you’re still my best friend. That didn’t change eighty-eight days ago when we left the Hephaestus. And it’s not going to change ever.”

Eiffel was silent for a moment before slowly pulling away the blanket from over his head. “You’ve been counting the days?”

“I have enough processing power to run an entire, somewhat functional space station,” Hera said. “And I’m honestly really bored.”

“What? You’re telling me games of chess against the least strategical person here aren’t keeping your big and powerful brain constantly stimulated?”

Hera sighed, as if she were trying to keep herself from laughing. “Stimulated, no. Entertained, yes.”

Eiffel smiled. “Thank you, Hera.”

“I know there’s nothing we can do,” Hera said. “But talk to the others? The Commander is worried sick and the only reason she isn’t banging on your door right now is because I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“I’m really not feeling up to it, Hera,” Eiffel said. “I’d just like a chance to think.”

Hera was quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything?”

“I will. Thanks, Hera.”

“You’re welcome, Doug.”

* * *

He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, and he would have continued to sleep if it weren’t for someone persistently shaking his arm.

“Doug, wake up.”

Eiffel begrudgingly rolled over, blinking a few times before recognizing the figure of Minkowski leaning over him. “I think I’m sick.”

Minkowski frowned, placing the back of her hand over his forehead. “You’re warm,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“No coughing up blood?”

“No.”

“Convulsions?”

“No.”

“Well,” Minkowski said. “That’s something, at least.” She didn’t look reassured.

Eiffel coughed. “I realize I’m not entirely convincing right now, but I’m probably fine.”

“Probably?”

Another cough followed by a wheeze. “Benefit of the doubt?”

“You’re right,” Minkowski said. “I’m not convinced.”

Eiffel slowly sat up, his head feeling like it was full of water. He didn’t have anything to go by, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t along the same lines as convulsions. “What were my symptoms before?” he asked.

Minkowski’s brows knit together, and she took a seat on the edge of his bed. “Coughing attacks that lead to coughing up blood followed by convulsions and eventual going into shock,” she listed off. “And that was act one.”

“I am ninety-nine percent sure that’s not what’s happening now,” Eiffel stated.

“Yet.”

“Dr. Hilbert, didn’t he stop the experiment a while ago?” Eiffel asked. “Shouldn’t the virus be dormant or something?”

“That’s what he said the first time.”

“Okay, well, maybe it’s dorment-er,” Eiffel amended. “The first time he hadn’t actually completely stopped the experiment, right? But he was ordered to later. He probably did all the super intense, confusing science stuff to make it, I don’t know, turn off permanently or whatever.”

“That’s assuming he followed Kepler’s orders,” Minkowski said.

“You think he didn’t?”

“I don’t know what I think,” Minkowski sighed. “Even to the end I didn’t really trust him. That virus was his life’s work, and he’d shown no qualms disobeying orders before, or letting people die from the virus’s effects for that matter. Maybe he’d said something to you that would indicate an answer, but . . .”

“Out of luck there,” Eiffel finished the thought for her.

“Yeah,” Minkowski agreed. “Out of luck.”

Neither spoke for a while, the silence only being broken, regrettably, by an occasional cough. For once, even Eiffel didn’t have much to say.

“About this morning,” Minkowski eventually said. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot for not remembering. I think I just hoped that maybe part of you would.”

“It’s okay, Renée. I don’t blame you.”

“But I do.” Minkowski’s voice had grown softer. “Because I shouldn’t expect the impossible from you. I look at you and it feels like I’m looking at a dead man and I go over every possibility in my head of how I could bring him back and I forget that the person standing in front of me is still here, alive. And considering what happened to Hilbert, what I did to Maxwell, hell even Kepler, alive is pretty good. But I can’t stop thinking about it, anyways. That I let this happen, even though it was my number one priority to keep you all safe. And even though we made it out alive we still aren’t safe, and I can’t even handle the thought of you just having a cold because what if it’s actually so much worse and I can’t do anything to stop it? Maybe you’re fine but maybe you aren’t and no matter which it is how could I not have prepared for the worst-case scenario? I have no idea what to do if things go south and that’s unacceptable and I’m sorry, Eiffel. I’m so sorry.”

Eiffel started to respond, thought about it for a moment longer, and then tried again. “No one expects you to have all the answers, Renée,” he said.

Minkowski snorted. “Tell that to Jacobi.”

“Honestly, Jacobi can shove it,” Eiffel exhaled. “Just, don’t tell him I said that. I’d like to not mysteriously die in my sleep.”

“It would give me a solid excuse to finally shoot him,” Minkowski said thoughtfully. “Not fatally, though. Just in the kneecap or something.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eiffel held up his hands for emphasis. “You’re saying that if Jacobi literally kills me, you’d just avenge me by taking out his kneecaps?”

“Have you looked outside?” Minkowski asked. “No way are we taking the time and resources to dig _two _graves.”

“I felt like one or both of us were trying to give the other a pep talk and we’re doing a pretty lousy job right now,” Eiffel said, trying unsuccessfully to hold back another cough.

Minkowski sighed. “Yeah,” she agreed. “We’re not so great at that, huh?”

“Point is,” Eiffel continued, clearing his throat. “You’re one person, and it isn’t solely your responsibility to take care of everyone. Yeah, things really suck right now. And maybe they’ll get worse. But if they do it won’t be your fault. That’s just par for the course in our lives at this point. And if things do get worse, well, we’ll figure something out. You know, hopefully before any more near-death experiences, but you won’t have to figure it out alone.”

Minkowski’s face seemed to relax, even if it were only slightly. “I’m sorry that I lost my cool a bit earlier,” she said.

“Yeah, me too.”

“However,” Minkowski added. “This doesn’t mean I’m not still worried. I’m going to take your temperature, you’re going to take some medicine, and you’re going to get lots of bedrest until we’re sure it is, in fact, just a cold.”

“You know, I seem to recall a teensy little detail about it being my birthday, and I resent having to spend my special day cooped up in bed,” Eiffel said adamantly.

“Newsflash, Doug; birthdays stop being fun after you hit thirty.”

“Please, I’m not _that_ old.”

“You’re thirty-four.”

“And that’s why my back always hurts. Got it.”

Minkowski stood up. “I’m going to get the thermometer. And I’m serious about the bedrest thing; stay put.”

“Aye, aye, Commander.”

Minkowski left the room, leaving the door cracked open slightly.

Eiffel lied back down, pulling his blanket more tightly around him. The room was cold, and it was steadily getting dark outside. Thirty-four, huh?

He quickly fell asleep again, accompanied by the nagging feeling that the number should hold a certain meaning to him.

Eiffel was getting too used to that feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Or, if you've just arrived, welcome! Two chapters within a few days, huh? I might be getting ahead of myself here. I had been looking forward to writing this chapter since completing my outline for this story, and I possibly got a teensy bit too excited with throwing this chapter into the world. For all of your kind words and support so far, thank you! I cannot ever emphasize enough how much your feedback means to me, as a writer. Not only does it encourage me to keep going, but it also helps make me aware of my strengths and weaknesses, and how to continue improving each day. Seeing as we're coming up on a long weekend, I'll either get tons of writing done, or probably none at all. Either way, chapter four will be ready in due time. Thank you again for all of your support so far, Dear Readers. And onto the next!


	4. We Forgot To Prioritize Our Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things fall apart, and someone has to be ready to pick up the pieces. For second generation Sensus Unit Hera, it isn't always clear what pieces need to be picked up in the first place, and how to go about picking them up when you figure out which ones are the right ones. Plus intuition, especially un-okay days, and more explosives than any reasonable person would ever want to be around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised, this chapter contains depictions of physical sickness that some readers may find disturbing.

December 26th, 2016

28 days since returning to Earth

Sleep; it is a completely inconvenient and sometimes distressing experience, but everyone needs it. If people didn’t sleep, their brains wouldn’t be given the optimal opportunity to sort and process the information they gathered during the day. A design flaw, really. The human brain is considered one of the most powerful computers known to man, and yet in order for it to work it has to go into rest mode for several hours each day. And even though sleep is supposed to bring restoration, the accompanying dreams often leaves its users with more anxiety than comfort. So, what’s the point? Are the benefits really worth the drawbacks?

Hera didn’t need sleep. At least, not like humans did. She was designed better than that. Her brain could consolidate information without having to go into a shutdown, without having to halt any of her active functions. She was an improvement, a marvel. That’s what she had been told.

If that were actually true, maybe she wouldn’t be so lonely while everyone else around her slept.

Well, sleeping might have been a bit of a generous assessment. Most of her fellow crewmates didn’t get in much actual sleep, but they all pretended. Eiffel and Miranda got the most consistent sleep, though Eiffel would frequently wake up during the night, and Miranda would often lie awake staring at the wall for at least an hour before falling asleep. Minkowski’s sleep schedule shifted between reasonable and nonexistent. Some days she slept well, some days she didn’t, and her sleepless nights affected her worse than anyone else’s affected theirs. And when she didn’t sleep, she either found productive things to do without disturbing the others or would get into no-blinking-battles with her bedside clock. She always lost, though she improved every night. Lovelace rarely slept, but she wasn’t as productive with her extra hours. Instead she tended to stare at the ceiling for hours on end. Hera had noticed her fall asleep a few times, only to wake in a near violent panic. Maybe that’s why she didn’t sleep anymore. Jacobi was a mystery. Hera was sure he wasn’t sleeping either, but he was the best at pretending he was.

Sometimes Hera spent these hours watching them, the first few nights even making some attempts to talk to the ones who were more obviously awake. Her conversation seemed appreciated, but ultimately unwanted, at least in those hours. She elected for finding other ways to occupy herself instead.

Reading was a common trend that everyone had picked up to pass the time, but Hera actually did enjoy what she was reading. She loved having access to the internet, where she could read anything and everything she wanted. Dystopia, she had found, was a personal favorite, albeit a bit of a guilty pleasure. She loved to read, she loved to learn.

But no matter how much she learned, it didn’t help her feel less alone.

It was almost 4:00 in the morning, which meant that those who could sleep would most definitely be asleep by this point. Though, it had taken longer than the handful of nights prior. Minkowski’s heartrate did not get close to being adequate for sleeping until almost 1:00, as she had spent most of the day and night prior worrying over Eiffel’s unexpected cold. Cold. It was just a cold. Eiffel had insisted that, and Hera wanted nothing more than to wholeheartedly believe him. Between Minkowski frequently checking on him, and no one else feeling relaxed enough to pretend to sleep until she did, the house remained active until nearly 2:00.

Minkowski fell asleep at precisely 2:34:53. Miranda had fallen asleep at precisely 1:48:25. Lovelace finally closed her eyes at precisely 3:16:09. Jacobi had hidden under his blanket at precisely 1:22:10. Eiffel had passed out at precisely 10:40:12 the night before. And Hera was awake. She was always awake. She was awake to see Minkowski pacing in her room before finally lying down, only to toss and turn for half an hour before finally falling asleep. She was awake to see Lovelace make annoyed faces when Minkowski was looking, and worried ones when she was not.

And she was awake to see Eiffel stumble out of bed at precisely 4:02:13, look around the bedroom in confusion, and then pass out on the floor at precisely 4:02:21.

“Doug?!” Hera’s voice crackled to life over the speaker in his and Jacobi’s bedroom, breaking the early morning silence. At precisely the same time, her voice came over the speaker in the room shared by Minkowski and Lovelace and Miranda, alerting Minkowski that something was wrong. It barely took a moment for Minkowski to jump into action, not even asking Hera for details before making her way to the other bedroom. Hera hadn’t needed to explain; she knew Minkowski could put the pieces together on her own. She was always quick like that.

By the time Minkowski reached the room, Jacobi was already up and attempting to help a very disoriented Eiffel off the floor. And by the time Minkowski knelt down on Eiffel’s other side, he had already started expelling whatever remained of his dinner from the night before. Hera wondered what the point was of the human body not using every piece of nutrients it received, thus making it possible for anything to be expelled after consumption. She had plenty of processing power to both consider this and be present in the current situation. She was a great multitasker.

“He’s burning up,” Minkowski said, feeling Eiffel’s forehead.

“Looks like the flu or something,” Jacobi assured her. “Perfectly normal.” Hera had a hard time accepting that passing out and waking up to immediately vomit could be considered normal by any standards.

“Doug, talk to us. How do you feel?” Minkowski turned her attention to Eiffel, who, under the light of Jacobi’s bedside lamp, was looking paler than he should.

“Sick,” Eiffel said. Helpful as always, but at least he was responsive.

“Are you going to be sick again?” Minkowski asked.

“Probably.”

“What should we do?” Not that Hera could exactly do anything. All she was anymore was a voice in the air; someone to watch and make commentary. How useful.

“Let’s at least get him to the bathroom.” Lovelace had entered the room a few moments earlier. She didn’t look nearly as concerned as Minkowski, but Hera knew she was just better at hiding it. Sometimes Lovelace emoting less was more worrisome.

Minkowski helped a very wobbly Eiffel to the upstairs bathroom, calling behind her for Jacobi to clean up the mess on the floor. Jacobi was very visibly annoyed by this. Hera knew Jacobi was worrisome whether he emoted or not.

Hera’s main focus was kept on the people in the bathroom, but she was also keenly aware of Jacobi (very begrudgingly) disinfecting the floor, and Miranda standing very still outside of her bedroom door, watching everything without comment. Hera still didn’t know if an emotionless Miranda was worrisome or not. She still didn’t know how to read her yet.

Eiffel, in fact, did get sick again, but luckily this time into the toilet rather than on the floor. Small victories.

“Definitely looks like the flu,” Lovelace said, leaning against the bathroom door. She was perfectly positioned to block Miranda’s view into the bathroom from where she still stood at the entrance to their bedroom. It didn’t take a super intelligence to know this was intentional.

“I swear I’m vaccinated,” Eiffel mumbled, his retching turning into coughing.

“Flu shots aren’t a one-time vaccination,” Minkowski told him, filling up a cup with water for Eiffel to rinse his mouth with. “And on what basis can you swear you’ve had any in the first place?”

“Intuition?” Eiffel tried, taking the offered cup (not that it was negotiable).

“In hindsight,” Hera spoke up. “You all should have probably gotten flu shots as soon as you settled in. More than likely all of your immune systems are weaker than when you left.”

“Flu shots mean appointments. Appointments mean providing identification. Even with fake ID’s it’s a risk,” Minkowski explained.

“And so is getting the flu,” Hera pointed out. “Getting a quick shot at a pharmacy is a lot less risky than a hospital stay.”

“If it’s just the flu a hospital stay isn’t likely to be necessary,” Lovelace said. “Jacobi can pick up some more medicine from the general store in the morning.”

“And what about the rest of you?” Hera asked. “According to all of my sources, the flu is highly contagious, especially in the first few days. We’re in pretty close quarters here, so unless everyone wants to start wearing – Doug?”

Eiffel had doubled over, one hand covering his mouth as he coughed while the other clutched at his chest. The cough wasn’t subsiding.

“Hey, steady,” Minkowski said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Take a deep breath if you can.”

It took a moment before Eiffel could follow her advice, and even when he did his breathing sounded more like a wheeze, leading only to another coughing fit. When he did finally catch his breath again, he pulled his hand away from his face and stared at his palm, wide-eyed. From the angle of the camera, Hera couldn’t see what had caused such an expression, but based on Minkowski’s equally horrified look, she had a pretty good idea.

For a moment no one moved, only the sound of Eiffel’s breathing steadily growing faster breaking through the silence. His face had gone white, and Hera didn’t think that was from the sickness.

“Commander, please tell me that’s not what I think it is—”

“What the hell else would it be, Hera?”

“Captain, do _not _take that tone with me right now.”

“Both of you, shut up!” Minkowski snapped. “Doug, you need to slow down your breathing or you’re going to make yourself pass out.”

Based on his lack of response, Hera wasn’t sure Eiffel had even heard Minkowski.

Minkowski scooted so that she was directly in front of him. “Look at me, Doug. You need to slow down.”

“What’s happening?!” Hera demanded. “What’s wrong with him?!”

“Panic,” Lovelace explained, as if that were somehow okay. Hera had plenty of experience to know that panic was, decidedly, not okay.

It didn’t take long for Eiffel’s rapid breathing to turn into another coughing fit. Hera waited for it to produce more blood, but thankfully no more came. Yet. It did, however, take plenty long for Minkowski to talk Eiffel down into some reasonable pace of breathing, during which time Hera had checked and triple checked every possible explanation she could find on the web.

“Okay, so there’s maybe some good news, and maybe some bad news,” Hera said, trying to sound optimistic. She did not acknowledge her glitch on the second “maybe”.

“And?” Lovelace asked, raising an eyebrow in what Hera took to mean impatience.

“Good news is coughing up small amounts of blood is a perfectly explainable symptom of illnesses like bronchitis or pneumonia.”

“And the bad news?” Minkowski questioned.

“We don’t actually know for certain that either of those are the causes.”

“When I die, Hera gets my side of the room.”

“If you’re still coherent enough to make stupid remarks, you’re probably not dying,” Minkowski said, though to Hera it sounded like she was trying to reassure herself as much as Eiffel.

“The symptoms so far do seem to be in line with pneumonia,” Hera continued. “How does your chest feel?”

“Bad.”

“Please use more descriptive words than ‘bad’.”

“Very bad.”

“He’s probably fine,” Lovelace said. Her body language had started to relax, and that was a good enough indicator for Hera that she could probably relax a little too.

“Even if it’s not Decima, I wouldn’t consider something like pneumonia to be fine,” Minkowski stated. “Like Hera said, we’re not running on peak health here. Something moderately concerning for the general populace could be much more serious for any of us, and that’s just those of us _without_ a -hopefully- dormant dangerous virus in our systems.”

“Unless one of us happened to be presumably immortal and gave another a rather extensive blood transfusion in the past,” Lovelace pointed out.

“Blood transfusions don’t last that long,” Hera said hesitantly. “But based on the last few days on the Hephaestus you’re not really wrong. It’s still a stretch, though, and it’s not like any of us know the details of how your biology works.”

“Yeah, even the alien in the room isn’t an expert on alien biology,” Lovelace muttered.

“For the sake of argument, let’s assume the worst,” Minkowski decided. “As soon as the roads are safe to drive on, I’ll send Jacobi to the store for more medicine. For now, you,” Minkowski turned her attention to Eiffel. “Are going back to bed.”

“Good plan, but first I’m going to get sick again.” No one made any moves to stop him as Eiffel once again vomited into the toilet.

“Lovely,” Lovelace groaned.

After several minutes of thorough mouth rinsing and teeth brushing, Eiffel unsteadily made his way back to his bed, with the help of Minkowski. Jacobi had finished disinfecting the floor a while ago, and was lying down on his bed, glaring up at the ceiling. Miranda had quietly slipped back into her room as soon as Lovelace had turned away from the bathroom. She would frequently make herself scarce from any group confrontation, in hopes of no one noticing she had been observing in the first place. Hera noticed; Hera always noticed. She was sure Miranda knew this too.

Needless to say, no more sleep was had that night. Or morning, as it were. Miranda had returned to her bed, but Hera could tell she was only pretending to sleep. Lovelace had also decided to go back to bed but elected to continue her usual staring off into space (or whatever more pleasant alternative existed). Jacobi had eventually grabbed a book off of his nightstand and leafed through the pages, obviously not taking in a single word. He clearly didn’t mind if anyone could tell that he’d presumably read that same book at least fifteen times now.

Minkowski paced. She paced in Eiffel and Jacobi’s room, staring down at the thermometer in her hands wordlessly after taking Eiffel’s temperature for the first time since the night before. She paced in her own room when it looked like Eiffel had finally fallen back asleep, and Jacobi had started pointedly clearing his throat at her. When the sun finally started to rise, she paced downstairs in the kitchen, stalling on what Hera assumed was her trying to decide what to cook for breakfast when the others decided to stop pretending to sleep in their own fashions and come downstairs to eat.

Hera watched. She always watched. There wasn’t much else for her to do.

At 7:28:19 Lovelace came downstairs, starting a pot of coffee. At 7:33:08 Jacobi joined them at the table, fixing a cup from the pot of coffee Lovelace had prepared. At 7:41:56 Miranda seated herself at the table with a cup of tea. She always chose tea. At 8:05:37 Minkowski set breakfast on the table. Pancakes. She didn’t fix herself a plate before heading back upstairs to check on Eiffel. No one complained about the pancakes.

“It’s approximately 3° Fahrenheit outside right now,” Hera informed Minkowski when she made her way upstairs. “Temperatures aren’t expected to rise above 16° Fahrenheit today.”

Minkowski entered Eiffel and Jacobi’s room, eyes fixed on the window. “The storm hasn’t really let up,” she commented.

“No sir, but weather reports suggest that the winds might calm down in the early afternoon, at least for a short time. Driving is still highly discouraged, though, especially this far away from any major cities.”

Minkowski hummed; it felt like she had only taken note of half of Hera’s words.

“Maybe you should eat breakfast?” Hera suggested. “You look tired.”

“Soon, Hera.” Minkowski turned away from the window and began to attempt to rouse a sleeping Eiffel. He stayed awake long enough for Minkowski to get more cough syrup into his system and take his temperature. Hera was sure he had fallen back asleep immediately as his head returned to his pillow.

Minkowski stared at the thermometer, beginning to pace.

“Commander?” Hera asked, trying to keep her tone patient, but she didn’t appreciate that the thermometer was held where she couldn’t get an accurate read from her camera.

“101°, just like earlier,” Minkowski said, pulling out a disinfectant wipe and cleaning off the thermometer.

“That’s within the expected parameters of a fever,” Hera assured her.

“It’s the _fever_ part I’m worried about.”

Hera couldn’t argue with that.

Minkowski returned to the kitchen downstairs where a plate of an appropriate number of leftover pancakes waited for her, per Hera’s request to the others. Not that anyone was particularly enthused about eating more than their share of pancakes, even if these were strawberry as opposed to blueberry. There were leftover strawberries from the day before, after all.

The normal routine kicked in after breakfast; Lovelace washed the dishes, Jacobi started the laundry, Minkowski added fresh wood to the fireplace, and Miranda updated the grocery list. Hera watched. She was very good at watching.

At precisely 10:09:24 Jacobi stepped outside to smoke. At precisely 10:14:52 he came back inside, kicking snow off of his boots on the exterior door siding.

“Not a pretty sight out there,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Snow’s blowing everywhere.”

“It is a snowstorm,” Lovelace stated.

“My point is I don’t see that little Toyota Camry getting very far in these conditions,” Jacobi finished.

“I mentioned this to Commander Minkowski earlier, but the winds should subside briefly sometime after noon,” Hera said.

“And what about the ice on the roads?” Jacobi asked.

“Drive slowly?”

Jacobi opened his mouth to respond, closed it for a moment, then started again. “Unlike you, Hera, I can’t calculate a dozen different possibilities in half a second—”

“Think a bit bigger than a dozen,” Hera interrupted.

“—So, I can’t just drive a vehicle over solid ice without a high chance of spinning off a cliff.”

“Have you tried?”

“My specialty is in fire, not ice.” Jacobi hung his coat on the rack by the door. “I’m not getting to town today, Minkowski.”

Minkowski didn’t react, her attention having been occupied by looking out of the living room window. “We’ll make do,” she eventually said, getting up from her chair and heading upstairs. Hera didn’t need her cameras to know where Minkowski was going.

By now it was the late morning lull, where no one was hungry enough to bother fixing food so soon after breakfast, any daily chores had already been done, and the day hadn’t yet been long enough for any considerable disasters to happen. Eiffel continued to sleep, Minkowski alternated between pacing in his room and simply sitting on the edge of his bed, Lovelace sat on her own bed reading (she had finally started paying attention to the words), Jacobi sat downstairs reading (he was still not paying attention to a single word), and Miranda shut herself in the office.

Hera watched. She was bored of watching.

Minkowski was too distracted for conversation. Lovelace was nearing the action in her book, so Hera didn’t have the heart to attempt conversation with her. Jacobi was never a candidate for small talk. Eiffel wasn’t awake for anything at all.

“Hera?”

“Yes, Miranda?”

“I’m trying to work out a more efficient wiring system for the house, so it’ll be harder to blow another fuse,” Miranda said. “Could you help me run some numbers?”

“Of course,” Hera responded. “But if you need help with any actual rewiring, you’ll want to ask Captain Lovelace.”

Miranda didn’t respond to that, as if she hadn’t even heard Hera.

“The Captain is the most proficient with hands-on engineering out of everyone here,” Hera added. “I’m sure she could teach you a few things.”

“But you already know how to do all of that,” Miranda said. “It’s most efficient for me to ask you.”

“I have the knowledge, sure,” Hera agreed. “But I’m not equipped to teach something I can’t physically show you myself.”

Miranda didn’t respond to that either, her focus on the computer monitor in front of her.

“That equation is wrong,” Hera said, editing the numbers on the screen. “You forgot to account for—”

“Do you hate me?”

Hera paused, not entirely sure what she had expected but it certainly wasn’t that.

“It’s fine if you do,” Miranda continued. “If I were you, I’d probably hate me too. I’m sure everyone else does as well.”

“Doug doesn’t hate you.”

“He doesn’t remember me,” Miranda reminded her. “He doesn’t count.”

Hera didn’t have a counterpoint for that.

“You didn’t refute my inquiry,” Miranda said.

“No,” Hera agreed. “I didn’t.”

“Is that why you’d rather Captain Lovelace help me with this than you?” Miranda pressed on. “Because then you wouldn’t have to, and she’s less reserved with her true intentions?”

“Why is this coming up now?” Hera asked. Her tone had lost its usual politeness she tried to use with Miranda, switching to impatience.

“Because you’re not currently stretched over multiple conversations like you normally are when Eiffel is awake and talkative,” Miranda answered, her tone remaining neutral.

“I can easily hold two or three or ten conversations at once and give them all my full attention,” Hera said, offended now.

“You can, but do you want to?”

Hera was silent again. She hadn’t expected that either.

“Would you rather have this conversation later?” Miranda asked.

“I’d rather not have it at all.”

“You seemed awfully annoyed at Jacobi and Minkowski last week for avoiding conversations.”

“That’s different,” Hera insisted.

“How?”

“I don’t know!” Hera snapped. “It just is! Whatever issues Jacobi has with Commander Minkowski he can take up with her and she can respond accordingly. She knows exactly why Jacobi is angry with her and she can actually do something about it! What do you want me to say to you? Demand an apology for sticking your fingers in my brain multiple times with the express purpose of hurting me? Designing me to believe I’m not good enough because you were fueled by your creations fearing you? Turning my friends into mind-controlled puppets? Oh, and how could I forget how you gave me no other choice but to erase all of my best friend’s memories so you couldn’t take them and _destroy humanity_. Do you want me to hold you accountable for all of that? Because I can. I am perfectly capable of doing so. But I won’t, because you don’t remember any of it. And it won’t bring me any satisfaction because what’s the point in getting even when the other person won’t feel any regret? Is that what you wanted me to say?”

“Yes.”

Once more, Hera didn’t expect Miranda’s words. “Excuse me?!”

“Yes,” Miranda repeated. “That is what I wanted you to say. Because that’s what you’ve been thinking. And I’d much prefer you tell me what you think of me rather than pretending you think something else.”

“Well,” Hera still wasn’t sure of what to say. “There. I’ve said it. Now you know. What did that accomplish?”

“I now know the answer to my first question,” Miranda said. “I’m ready to get back to work if you are.”

“No, I’m not!” Hera snapped. “We’re not just getting back to work after all of that! What do you mean you now know the answer to your first question?”

“I know if you hate me or not,” Miranda answered.

“Please, enlighten me.”

“You do.”

“What gave that away?”

“But you also don’t,” Miranda finished. “You hated me in the past, and now you’re conflicted. Because it isn’t just me in this situation. If you decided to still hate me, you’d have to confront feelings towards Eiffel you aren’t ready to address.”

“That’s irrelevant and also none of your business,” Hera bit out.

“But am I wrong?”

Hera was silent. She didn’t want to answer that; she didn’t want to play along with whatever game Miranda was attempting. “If you want any more help with the wiring, ask Captain Lovelace.”

Hera turned off the camera and microphones in the office.

It wasn’t a large house. It had two bedrooms and two bathrooms and the necessary amenities; the fact that it had an office at all was superfluous. The house wasn’t like the Hephaestus. There weren’t rooms upon rooms just waiting to be explored behind doors just begging to be opened. There wasn’t an endless list of tasks for Hera to tackle so that the entire station didn’t fall into the star or stop supplying sufficient air or fall apart entirely. Here, there were a handful of rooms, zero life support functions, and nothing else to do but watch.

Hera was so tired of watching.

There was the internet, of course. An endless supply of information to explore, and she could take in more at once than some people ever would in a lifetime. She was good at multitasking. But what good was information to her if she didn’t have any functions to warrant utilizing such information?

What good was she now?

“Captain Lovelace?”

“Yes, Hera?” Lovelace looked up from her book, her eyes meeting the camera in one of the top corners of the room.

“How are you liking the book?”

Lovelace raised an eyebrow. “It’s . . . depressing. But alright.”

“Oh. That’s good, I suppose.”

Lovelace was quiet for a moment before dog-earing the top corner of her page and closing the book, setting it down on her bedside table. “Everything okay, Hera?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t everything be okay?”

She noticed the glitch; of course, she noticed the glitch. She hoped Lovelace wouldn’t point it out.

“Because I’m pretty sure today is especially un-okay, even for our standards,” Lovelace pointed out. “So, it seems odd of you to say everything’s fine.”

“I’m fine, Captain.”

“Are you?”

Hera sighed. “It’s a stressful day, okay?”

“I know,” Lovelace said. “Could that have anything to do with you making small talk?”

“I’m . . . worried. About Doug. And about Commander Minkowski also being worried.”

“Is that all?” Lovelace asked.

“Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s plenty, but if that were all you’d be making small talk with Minkowski, not me.”

Hera groaned. “You have a point.”

“So. What’s up?”

“What are we doing here, Captain? Really, what are we doing here at all? We’re in the middle of nowhere as far removed from civilization as reasonably possible, and for what? To hide from Goddard? To keep safe? Maybe that would have been believable two days ago but now I’m not so sure. We fought so hard to make it here and it feels like we’ve just taken the bare minimum that was handed to us and decided that was it. No more fighting, no more pushing for a better ending. We’re just . . . here. How long are we going to be here? How long will it take before something happens to one of you? Before one of you dies of boredom? Before the rest decide it’s not worth it anymore and it’s just you and me left because we don’t have an incoming expiration date. I’m grateful to be here, I am. But this can’t be it. I can’t spend the rest of my life watching and pretending I’m fine with it. This _can’t be it_.”

“It’s like we never left,” Lovelace said, her voice coming out barely above a whisper. “A second Hephaestus.”

“But smaller, and less to keep us occupied,” Hera added on. “It’s miserable. Sure, the sun and unlimited oxygen and gravity and actual weather might all be great for all of you, but what does any of that mean to me? What good is any of it if we’re still just as trapped?”

Lovelace bit her lip, looking down slightly as if in thought. “Hera, I don’t have the answers. And to be honest I’m just as miserable as you. Ideally, I’d be dragging Jacobi on a plane right now straight to Canaveral smuggling more explosives than any reasonable person would ever want to be around, ready to blow Goddard off the planet. But reality isn’t that idealistic.”

“It can be,” Hera argued.

“Like last week when the three of us tried to hack our way into Goddard and blew a fuse?” Lovelace asked. “I know that wasn’t a pleasant experience for you. Rebooting never is. But you know how Jacobi and I felt in that moment when everything went dark and you weren’t responding? We were scared, Hera. We thought we had somehow messed up so badly that on a whim we’d gotten you deleted. There have been more terrifying moments in my life than I’d like to remember, but those few moments before you came back online were hell. You know what’s worse than making it this far to just settle for the shitty table scraps? Making it this far and losing someone else after literally everything we’ve been through already.”

“I don’t want to settle,” Hera said.

“Yeah, none of us do,” Lovelace agreed. “But if we gotta settle for a time so that we can all get that better ending; I’ll take that over immediate results with one too many casualties any day.”

“You sound just like Commander Minkowski,” Hera muttered.

Lovelace smiled. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Hera didn’t respond.

“I’m not saying we should grow complacent,” Lovelace continued. “I’m saying we need to be smart.”

“I’m so bored, Captain. More than bored. I feel useless.”

“So, find something useful to do.”

“Like what?!”

“What’s our immediate problems?” Lovelace asked.

“Doug is sick, and we don’t know just how much we should be worried about that. The Commander is going to make herself sick too if she keeps running on empty like this. Jacobi is . . . Jacobi. And I have no idea where to even start with Miranda.”

“And what can you do about those things?” Lovelace continued.

“How should I know?” Hera asked. “That’s part of the problem!”

Lovelace sighed. “Hera, you’re smarter than all of us combined, but sometimes you can be really stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not a doctor,” Lovelace started. “We don’t even have a doctor, so no one can really do anything about Eiffel right now. Jacobi is . . . still Jacobi. So, no luck there for any of us. But Minkowski and Pryce? Minkowski trusts you more than almost anyone else in the world, and I’m sure you feel the same towards her. She’s going to burn herself out if someone doesn’t talk sense into her and who by definition has more sense than anyone else here? Hint; it’s someone with a brain currently the size of a room. As for Pryce, it was you who wanted to build bridges with her. It was you who vouched for her on the Urania and the entire way back home. If anyone can figure out what to do about her it’s you.”

“But what if I don’t know what to do?” Hera asked. “How am I supposed to know what to do?”

“You use that genius brain of yours, and you figure it out,” Lovelace said. “Another hint: it’ll probably have something to do with you being the best person out of all of us here.”

“I’m not—”

“Before you finish that sentence why don’t you give me a list of all the people you’ve hurt compared to all the people you’ve helped? And then compare those to the same lists the rest of us would have. Final hint: Eiffel and Pryce don’t really count in this game because, well, complications.”

“I took Doug’s life away.”

“He agreed to it and you saved literally all of humanity, try again.”

“How is any of this even relevant?” Hera demanded.

“It’s relevant because right now, more than anything, what we need is someone who gives a damn. About all of us. And you’re the only one I see losing sleep, so to speak, over the wellbeing of everyone here. Maybe you’re not supplying our oxygen or keeping us in one piece on a literal level, but you’re still the one who’s keeping us together in every other way that matters. God knows the rest of us can’t pull that off, not even Minkowski.”

Hera was quiet; she was left without a good response too many times that day. “And what if things fall apart anyways?” she eventually asked.

“They’ve fallen apart before,” Lovelace said. “We’ll pick ourselves back up and we’ll try again.”

“And the stuff we can’t do anything about?”

“Cross our fingers and hope for the best.”

Hera sighed. “If you have fingers.”

Lovelace stood up, stretching her arms. “There’s one thing you didn’t mention, Hera. One piece you forgot about.”

“What piece is that?” Hera asked.

“You, Hera. I trust you to look after us, so who’s looking after you?”

“I,” Hera started. “I don’t know.”

Lovelace hummed. “All this time spent worrying about us and you haven’t figured out how you fit into that equation?”

“It didn’t cross my mind, no.”

Lovelace frowned. “Take a rest, Hera. Take care of yourself. You can figure out the future tomorrow. It’ll still be there.”

With that, Lovelace left the room, and the conversation.

Hera could still see her. Hera could see everyone. Lovelace had joined Jacobi downstairs and was attempting some level of the ever-dreaded small talk, much to his apparent displeasure, but he made no active moves to get her to leave him alone. Minkowski was still in the room with Eiffel, sitting on the edge of his bed as he continued to sleep.

Hera turned back on the camera and microphones in the office. Miranda was still there, still pouring over the computer monitor. If she had noticed the camera and microphones turning back on, she made no indication.

Take a rest.

At precisely 11:57:22 Lovelace got Jacobi to crack what might have been the beginnings of a smile. At precisely 12:01:14 Minkowski woke Eiffel for another round of cough syrup and temperature checking. At precisely 12:02:40 Miranda scooted her chair away from the computer and turned to look absently out of the office window.

At precisely 12:05:31 Hera went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! It has been a while since the last update, at least in comparison to how quickly the other updates were posted in relation to each other. If you are returning, thank you for your patience. If you are new, thank you for getting this far! The holiday weekend left me with a touch of writer's block, and I'm afraid to say I'm posting this under minimal hours of rest. Thus, if there are any glaring mistakes such as typos, confusing sentence structures, or obvious misuses of words, the sleep deprivation is to blame. I want to again say a huge thank you to everyone who has supported this fic or sent me encouragement through kudos and comments so far. It makes my world a little brighter every time. Due to other writing commitments, the next chapter might not be available for another week, but I will try to have it ready by the next weekend. Thank you for your continued support, Dear Readers. And I'll see you in the next one.


	5. Why Did You Genetically Modify Turnips To Feel Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no shortage of traumas and losses to cope with among the fractured remains of the Hephaestus crew, but for Special Intelligence Agent Daniel Jacobi, healthy coping doesn't always come naturally. Plus trendy upgrades to dull looks, the face of space exploration martyrdom, and soothing walks in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised, this chapter contains depictions of suicide ideation that some readers may find disturbing. Read at your own discretion.

December 28th, 2016

30 days since returning to Earth

A combination of dirt and snow crunched beneath the rolling tires of the car as Jacobi pulled into the driveway, the afternoon light fading quickly behind him. He checked his watch; 7:03, it read. An hour later than he had said he would be back. Minkowski really was going to kill him this time, if Lovelace didn’t beat her to it.

He opened the driver’s seat door, and on shaky legs stepped out of the car, a plastic Shoppers Drug Mart bag in hand. He didn’t bother looking back at the car; he was already well aware of the damage.

The front door creaked open and Jacobi kicked the layer of snow that had stuck to his boots off on the exterior door siding. The door was closed a moment later, and with a barely suppressed wince he removed his coat and hung it on the rack.

“Jacobi, is that you?” Lovelace’s voice came from the kitchen, and a moment later she appeared in the living room, her expression a mixture of mostly annoyance and fractionally concern that switched to the opposite as soon as she saw him.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Jacobi asked. “Catch.”

He tossed the grocery bag towards Lovelace and she caught it with ease. “What the hell, Jacobi?”

“I’m going upstairs to clean up,” he said, ignoring Lovelace’s question. “Hera, let me know when dinner’s ready.”

“Um, right,” Hera said, clearly hesitating, but otherwise not arguing.

If Lovelace had more to say, Jacobi didn’t stick around to find out. He made his way up the stairs and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and getting to work on washing the blood off of his hands and face. The space above his left eye was sporting a nasty cut, and though his nose had mercifully stopped bleeding fairly quickly, the remnants of that particular injury were still evident on the rest of his face and backs of his hands.

Once the damage to his face had been addressed, Jacobi carefully pulled off his sweater and undershirt to inspect the soreness in his left shoulder. Bruises had already begun to form in a line from the top of the shoulder down towards his chest. After a few moments of poking and prodding, he felt safe to say that nothing had been cracked. His shirts were pulled back on, and he exited the bathroom.

The bedroom was quiet, as it appeared Eiffel had finally taken a break from attempting to hack up his lungs and fallen asleep instead. He hadn’t done much besides either of those things for the past couple of days. Not that Jacobi was complaining; a break from Eiffel’s incessant need to chat was much appreciated, but he wasn’t sure replacing the man’s endless stream of consciousness with intense coughing (and on the more unpleasant occasion, gagging), was in any way an improvement. Still, it could be worse.

Well, actually, maybe not.

“Dinner’s ready, Jacobi,” came Hera’s voice from one of her speakers. He had only just lied down; perfect timing.

“Great, thanks,” he responded, feeling and sounding anything but appreciative. He didn’t move to get up again for at least five minutes.

When he arrived downstairs, he found that Lovelace and Miranda were both already seated in their usual spots at the table, fixing their plates with the dinner Minkowski had prepared. Pork with rice and a mixture of what looked like steamed vegetables. At least it wasn’t latkes again.

“Go ahead and eat; I’ll be back in a minute,” Minkowski had been saying as she set the last of the dishes on the table. Lovelace nodded in acknowledgement as Minkowski grabbed the grocery bag Jacobi had tossed Lovelace earlier and headed upstairs.

“So, mind telling me now what happened?” Lovelace asked as Jacobi took his seat, taking a sip from her glass of water.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Jacobi responded, reaching for the pork.

“Alright, I’ll clarify.” Lovelace set down her glass. “For starters, you showed up an hour later than you said you’d be back from town. When you did get back you came in with blood all over your face – nice bandage, by the way; it really brings the whole look together. And lastly, I checked outside, and the car has nice dent in the side and the driver’s window is cracked. So, I’ll ask again. What _the hell_ happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Jacobi shot back. “It was getting dark, the roads still haven’t completely thawed from the snowstorm, it seems pretty self-explanatory to me.”

“If it’s so self-explanatory, why are you being cagey about it?” Lovelace demanded, her brows knitting together in frustration. It felt like being scolded by an older sister, a sentiment Jacobi did not appreciate.

“Let me think about that,” Jacobi said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Well, first of all, temperatures today didn’t reach higher than – what was it, Hera?”

“21° Fahrenheit,” Hera answered promptly.

“21°,” Jacobi echoed. “And, if you’ll recall, we had a snowstorm earlier this week, so the roads have been particularly precarious lately. And as I’ve said before, that dingy little deathtrap of a car isn’t exactly four-wheel-drive.”

“We have had clear skies the past two days,” Hera interjected. “Which has allowed for some minimal ice melt and based on your driving history over the past few weeks, the statistics of you losing control of the vehicle are still considerably low.”

“Low doesn’t mean impossible.”

“More importantly,” Lovelace continued. “Did anyone see you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Is this an interrogation?” Jacobi demanded.

“It could be,” Lovelace said. “Should I make it one?”

“Go to hell, Lovelace,” Jacobi snapped, turning his attention to his dinner.

The kitchen went quiet, whether from surprise at his statement or a silent agreement to drop the conversation entirely, Jacobi didn’t care. He was, for once, more interested in Minkowski’s cooking than anything else.

A few minutes passed before the sounds of Minkowski’s footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs, followed by her entering the kitchen a moment later. She looked tired. She always looked tired. Jacobi briefly wondered if he could have felt sympathy for her, had things been different. He didn’t entertain the thought for long.

“Will Eiffel be joining us for dinner?” Miranda asked. It was a stupid question; for someone who was supposed to be a genius, she asked a lot of stupid questions. Maybe she wanted to appear naïve, nonthreatening. It never worked.

“No,” Minkowski said, taking her seat at the head of the table. She gave no further explanations.

The kitchen returned to silence, those present at the table eating quietly, and those otherwise looming above and around watching without a word.

“What happened to your face?”

“A good evening to you too, Commander.”

Minkowski glared at him, clearly unamused. She was rarely amused these days.

“Would you like me to ask what happened to yours?” Jacobi questioned when she didn’t immediately continue.

As if by instinct, Minkowski reached up to touch her cheek. “My face isn’t sporting a fresh Band-Aid.” He caught her uncertainty.

“It’s bigger than a Band-Aid,” Lovelace corrected.

“Band-Aids actually come in many sizes, but the particular woven pattern of the material looks to be a different brand entirely,” Hera put in.

“Not the point,” Minkowski said. “Your face. What happened?”

“I thought it would be a trendy upgrade,” Jacobi said sarcastically. “My look was feeling a bit dull lately.”

“He apparently crashed the car.”

“You _what_?!”

“Gee, Lovelace, loving the solidarity here,” Jacobi mocked.

“I’m taking you to hell with me,” Lovelace responded with a smug grin.

“How did you crash the car?” Minkowski demanded.

“Well, you see the thing about ice and roads—”

“I’m 88% certain it wasn’t the icy roads,” Hera interrupted.

“You asked me to make a trip into town today,” Jacobi continued, looking pointedly at Minkowski. “I did you a favor; take it or leave it.”

“I’ll gladly make the trip myself next time, then,” Minkowski retorted.

Jacobi laughed. “Not while you’ve got the face of space exploration martyrdom, you won’t,” he shot back.

“What exactly is your problem, Jacobi?”

“Would you like that list alphabetized or in chronological order?”

“Hey!” Lovelace snapped, bringing the argument to a halt. “If you two are going to act like children, take it outside.”

Neither Jacobi nor Minkowski made any indication of movement for several moments. Eventually, Jacobi scooted his chair back and stood to his feet. “Well, this has been fun. Let’s do it again tomorrow.” With that, he exited the kitchen, made his way to the front hall, grabbed his coat, and stepped outside. He was sure to let the door slam behind him.

Whatever resonating _thunk_ the door would have made was almost immediately drowned out by the stillness of the early night air. The sky was clear, and the snow that covered the ground was bathed in a glowing layer of moonlight. Maybe, at one time, Jacobi would have considered the sight beautiful. Now, it was merely insulting.

Jacobi looked up at the sky, taking in the sight of a thousand stars bearing down on him. He usually didn’t look; he didn’t need to see them to know they were there. He could feel their weight even under the protection of clouds, even when the sun shone bright in the sky. He didn’t need a visual reminder as well.

_How would you like to see the stars?_

What a joke.

He wasn’t sure when he started walking. One moment he had been standing on the porch, glaring at the sky, and the next moment he was walking down the driveway, down the unmarked road that would lead him to the highway. Away from that house.

If he was going this far, he should have taken the car.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling a message rather than a phone call, based on the vibration pattern. Only Eiffel was stupid enough to actually use the phones for their intended purposes. The message must have been coming from Hera.

Jacobi pulled the phone out of his pocket, looked at it for a moment, and then powered it off.

“You’re going to make your crew worry.”

“For god’s sake, leave me alone.”

“That’s not the clever Jacobi I know,” Kepler’s voice spoke. Whether it was in his head, or somewhere external, Jacobi was beyond caring. “No, the Jacobi I know wouldn’t take such stupid risks that could endanger his crew.”

“Because we always do things by the book, is that right?” Jacobi asked, turning off of the unmarked road and onto the highway shoulder.

“Because we’re smart,” Kepler answered.

“Smart people don’t end up dead.”

“You say that like everyone doesn’t die at some point,” Kepler pointed out.

“That’s rich, considering everything you _didn’t_ clue me in on.”

“You’re still going on about that?”

“Of course, I’m still going on about that!” Jacobi snapped, throwing up his arms in exasperation and, painfully remembering the bruising on his left shoulder, immediately regretting it. “Maybe if you had been upfront with us from the start, we could be having this conversation in person.”

“If I was upfront with you from the start, you’d be in an entirely different situation,” Kepler reasoned.

“God, I would hope.”

“You chose to stay.”

“And now I’m choosing to leave.”

Jacobi could hear Kepler laughing, that stupid laugh that always made him sound like he knew something you didn’t, and he was smugly waiting for the ball to drop. “And where are you going to go?”

“Canaveral. Wisconsin. China. The bottom of the lake three miles down the road. I don’t care.”

“You think _that_ is going solve your problems?”

“I don’t know!” Jacobi yelled. “You got any better ideas for me? I’m all ears.”

“Be smarter.”

“Maxwell was the smart one.”

“Then be cleverer,” Kepler amended. “I didn’t pick you for your rugged good looks, you know.”

“Because you couldn’t manipulate that, could you?” Jacobi challenged.

“Give me more credit, I could manipulate anything I wanted.”

“So, you admit it, then?” Jacobi asked. “You were manipulating us.”

“Is that what you’ve decided?”

Jacobi didn’t answer that. A gust of wind made him wrap his arms around himself as a chill went down his spine. Damn cold.

“You’re walking away from the town,” Kepler’s voice told him.

“Really? How enlightening.”

“If you’re trying to get anywhere, you should at least have a sustainable plan,” Kepler continued.

“Maybe I’m trying to get nowhere.”

“If that’s the case, then you’re right. Maxwell really was the smart one.”

“Leave me alone.”

The wind howled, and for a moment Jacobi wondered if something else was howling too. What animals were indigenous to Northern Canada, again?

“If that’s your plan, you’re going about it in all the wrong ways,” Kepler’s voice went on. “You could have easily gotten the job done earlier with the car.”

“I was tired,” Jacobi argued. “I got distracted and slipped up.”

“When have I ever given you permission to get distracted?” Kepler asked.

“If you wanted any say in what I do, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself vented into space!” Jacobi snapped. “You would have taken the offer Minkowski gave you on the Sol! You would have listened to me right then and there and admitted you were wrong! You would have told Maxwell and me the truth about our mission from day one, and she might have still been here! But you didn’t, so you lost any chance of granting me permission to do anything anymore.”

“I didn’t pull that trigger,” Kepler stated.

“No, you did,” Jacobi said. “You did.” Whether he was trying to convince Kepler of that, or himself, Jacobi didn’t ponder.

Snow crunched beneath his boots, the highway slowly curving into a bend. If he had bothered to look behind him, he wouldn’t have been able to see the drive onto the unmarked road anymore, even under the bright moonlight. Maxwell had always teased him about needing glasses. Maybe she had been right.

“If you want to wallow in self-afflicted pity, be my guest,” Kepler’s voice eventually said. “But answer this last question: what would Maxwell think?”

“It doesn’t matter what she would think,” Jacobi answered. “Alana’s dead.”

There was no response to that; Jacobi was alone again.

That’s what he wanted, right?

Jacobi stopped, looking back up to the unforgiving sky. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be with his team. But they were gone. And he was here.

Alone.

The sounds of an oncoming car slowly creeped up behind him, soon followed by a bright pair of headlights. He didn’t look back, instead continuing to walk forward.

The car drove up beside him, and he could hear the sound of a window rolling down. “You know, you’re supposed to walk facing away from traffic, right?”

“Bite me, Lovelace,” Jacobi muttered.

He kept walking, but the car matched his pace.

“It’s like 8° outside,” Lovelace continued. “Get in the damn car.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll run you over and throw your limp body into the backseat,” Lovelace said. “Seriously, Jacobi, just get in the car.”

Jacobi responded with the first rude gesture that came to mind in lieu of a verbal response.

“You’re being childish.”

“And you need to leave me the fuck alone.”

The car stopped abruptly, and not two seconds later Lovelace slammed the driver’s side door and marched directly in front of Jacobi’s path. “What’s your deal, Jacobi?”

Jacobi laughed in what felt like a horrible cross between genuine amusement and bitter irony. “My deal? Maybe it never occurred to any of you, but these past few months haven’t exactly been the same win for me that you all think it’s been for you. Maybe it never crossed your minds that while you’ve all been playing house with Frankenstein reincarnate, it never entirely set well with me to just go on living with the person who mind-hacked me. Maybe you’ve forgotten that while you and Minkowski got to come home with the people you both cared about, I had to come back alone. _Maybe that’s my deal, Captain_.”

He didn’t even see the hand coming before it slapped him hard across the left side of his face.

Jacobi reeled. “What the hell?!” He instinctively rubbed his cheek, his face already sore from his earlier misadventures. When he turned to look back at Lovelace, he was surprised to see a trail of tears slowly beginning to run down her face.

“Don’t you _ever_ talk to me about coming back alone,” Lovelace whispered, and somehow, it rang louder to Jacobi than if she had shouted.

Oh.

Right.

Jacobi sighed. “I . . . forgot about that,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s convenient,” Lovelace said. “I don’t get to forget.”

Jacobi didn’t have a response for that, but it appeared Lovelace wasn’t done, anyways.

“I don’t get to forget about Lambert, or Fisher, or Hui, or Fourier, or Rhea. I don’t even get to forget about Selberg-Hilbert-Volodin or whatever his name really was. Every day I get to remember them and think about how I made it back and they didn’t. I get to think about how, even though I was their captain, I didn’t protect any of them. I get that you lost Maxwell and Kepler, trust me, I get it. But don’t you _dare_ try and tell me that I’ve forgotten _anything_.”

Jacobi remained silent. He didn’t think there was anything he could say, even if he wanted to.

Lovelace wiped away the rogue tears, clearing her throat. “Now, for god’s sake Daniel, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m tired.”

Lovelace made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “That it?”

“No, but you pretty much covered everything else.”

Lovelace frowned. “When’s the last time you’ve slept?”

“Properly, or at all?” Jacobi asked.

“Let’s go with the former.”

“How many days have we been back on Earth?”

“Dammit, Jacobi,” Lovelace groaned. “And the latter?”

“Christmas night.”

“That was three nights ago,” Lovelace said.

“And I’m sharing a room with the guy who may or may not be about to choke on his own blood every time he coughs,” Jacobi pointed out. “It hasn’t exactly been a soothing walk in the park. When’s the last time _you’ve_ slept, Captain?”

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And at least I’m dealing with it,” Lovelace said, exasperated. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m making monumental progress, but I am dealing with it. How exactly have you been dealing with it, Jacobi?”

“I have my strategies.”

“On what planet is storming out of the house in below freezing temperatures after dark and walking aimlessly down the road towards nothing a sensible strategy?”

“I never said my strategies were sensible,” Jacobi pointed out.

“Then what are you trying to achieve?” Lovelace demanded.

“I don’t know!” Jacobi snapped. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, or what any of us are doing. This isn’t what I signed up for, so apologies if I’m not doing a great job with making things up as I go. I didn’t sign up for actual aliens, or getting mind controlled, or coming back to Earth with no plans of having a future outside of a two-bedroom house in a godforsaken winter wasteland. None of us signed up for this. But you know what? I would gladly take this any day if the two people I had come to depend on more than anything weren’t dead in space. But they are, and I’m here. And every day I get to sit at a table with the person who shot my best friend point blank, and I can’t even bring myself to get even because there’s barely anything left of that person to get even with. And she gave me every opportunity to stop, but I didn’t, because I was so convinced there was no way Kepler would let things go horribly wrong. But they did, and now Alana is gone. And as much as I want to blame Minkowski or even Kepler for that, I could have just as easily saved her, and I didn’t. Because god forbid, I ever disobeyed one of Kepler’s damn orders. So, you tell me, Lovelace. What do you think there’s left for me to achieve?”

Lovelace was quiet, her arms crossed across her chest as she looked directly at Jacobi, as if contemplating.

“Exactly,” Jacobi muttered.

“That wasn’t my answer,” Lovelace said. “But maybe you’d benefit from actually talking to Minkowski.”

“I don’t think that would end well for either of us,” Jacobi pointed out.

“Then I’ll lock up the firearms until you’ve both sorted things out,” Lovelace said. “But if you’re wanting me to give you an answer, I can’t. You’re right about this not being what any of us signed up for. It hasn’t been smooth sailing for anyone, and it’s not going to get easier anytime soon. But this is where we are now, this is our reality. You either live with it or you don’t, but there isn’t a third option.”

“Maybe the second option is good enough,” Jacobi said quietly.

Lovelace’s eyes widened for a moment before returning to a scrutinizing expression. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Because Kepler isn’t here to tell you what you want?”

Jacobi didn’t respond to that.

Lovelace sighed. “It’s late, Jacobi. Get in the car; come home and get some sleep.”

“That place isn’t home.”

“Then where is?”

Jacobi had an answer; late nights doing paperwork and listening to the sounds of buttons on a keyboard being rapidly pressed, teasing smiles and witty remarks that had stopped being funny two hours ago, hearing too many mind-numbing stories that may or may not have been real while the dark sky above lit up in explosions of color. But he didn’t share any of this with Lovelace.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “That place doesn’t exist anymore.”

Lovelace didn’t immediately respond, only giving him an eventual slight nod. Maybe he didn’t need to share it for her to understand.

“I’m going back to the house,” she said, turning towards the car that had been running idly this entire time. “You’re welcome to come with.”

“Am I?”

Lovelace was still, standing by the car with the driver’s door open. “You can have more than one home, Jacobi. No one is telling you otherwise, besides you.”

She got into the car and closed the driver’s door behind her.

The car remained idle.

Jacobi looked away, back towards the road ahead. Forward.

_Only forward._

He turned back and got into the car with Lovelace.

* * *

December 29th, 2016

31 days since returning to Earth

According to Jacobi’s watch, it was half-passed two in the morning when he woke up. He wasn’t sure why, at first, but realized a few moments later it was from the creaking of the upstairs floorboards. Based on the direction of the light he could just barely see from the hallway at the top of the stairs, he guessed the movement was Minkowski checking on Eiffel. Another moment of waiting confirmed this by the sound of coughing. If Eiffel was awake, Minkowski was no doubt right next to him.

Jacobi shifted his position on the couch, attempting to stretch out his legs a little more than what they had been for the past few hours. Lovelace kicked him from the other side, her own legs having fought for the most comfortable position earlier that night. Jacobi kicked back but after a second, much harder kick from Lovelace, he decided to relent. Even he couldn’t win a fight against Lovelace when she wanted something badly enough.

The couch really wasn’t ideal for comfort, but he’d already managed to get more sleep than he’d gotten in the last few days. Comfort could be damned for tonight.

“You awake?”

The noncommittal noise from Lovelace was enough to answer Jacobi’s question.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” Lovelace asked, her voice sounding only vaguely groggy.

“That’s all you’re getting.”

Lovelace snorted. “You had me worried for a second there, I almost thought you were getting sentimental.”

“I will kick you off this couch,” Jacobi threatened.

“Big talk coming from the guy currently curled up like a ball,” Lovelace yawned, stretching out comfortably as if for emphasis.

“Oh, screw you.”

“Would you prefer the floor?”

Jacobi didn’t answer, instead pulling his blanket more tightly around him.

“That’s what I thought.”

“You might be sitting pretty for now, but the second you fall asleep it’s over for you.”

“Good thing I don’t sleep.”

Jacobi looked towards Lovelace, barely able to make her out in the dark, especially with how she was tucked under her own blanket. “Hypocrite.”

“Maybe I’m more durable than you.”

“Maybe you’re full of shit.”

Lovelace laughed softly. “Maybe both.”

Jacobi looked back towards the stairs, the light from his shared room still shining down the hallway.

“Think they’re gonna be okay?” he asked Lovelace.

Lovelace sighed. “I don’t know, Jacobi. Maybe.”

“Or maybe not?”

“Let’s just . . . go with maybe.”

The living room was silent again, the distant sounds of Minkowski’s voice faintly carrying from upstairs.

“Isabel.”

“Daniel.”

“Where are we going from here?”

“Where do you want to go?”

Jacobi was silent for a moment, considering her question. He looked back to the light upstairs, listening to the vague noises of a conversation he didn’t want to hear. He was sure Hera could hear it, just as she could hear the conversation he was having with Lovelace in that exact moment. But she remained quiet. He thought back to Lovelace’s earlier question, to the home he had lost. “I really wanna blow Goddard off the planet,” he said. “I want to see it burn until there’s nothing left.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” Lovelace said.

Jacobi relaxed, closing his eyes once more. There was no plan, no schedule, no projected timetables. There was just Lovelace’s word, and a list of names that wouldn’t be forgotten.

Maybe, for now, that would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand I'm back! As always, a big thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos thus far! I hadn't expected to receive any feedback at all for this fic, and am overwhelmed with the kind words that have been left on the previous four chapters. We are now at the halfway mark of this fic, according to my (very detailed) notes, but they are subject to change as needed. These past couple of weeks have been very busy in my personal life, which has made finding time to write difficult. Also, this coming week I will be traveling, not quite as far as 7.9 lightyears from Earth, but around 3 thousand miles across America to visit my family, and this could definitely have an effect on my future writing speed. But don't fret, the next chapter will be here before you know it. Once again, thank you so much for the continued support, and if you'd like to see more active updates on the progress of this fic, or any of my other writing endeavors, feel free to follow me on tumblr @ actingwithportals! I'll see you in the next one, Dear Readers. Thank you!


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